


Frostbitten Blades and Gathering Storms

by auqursa



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Bi Inquisitor, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mage Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Mostly Canon Compliant, Multi, References to Abuse, References to Addiction/Withdrawal, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Some Humor, honestly i'm just indulging myself writing this, really though it's going to take a WHILE for them to get together, this inquisitor said Fuck Templars baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29079288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auqursa/pseuds/auqursa
Summary: Arya Trevelyan should not be alive. But as the sole survivor of Divine Justinia's Conclave, she is tasked with saving a world that seems to not even want her. To make matters worse, she's been made to work with a man who represents everything she fears about non-mages.This fic follows a very mage-sympathetic and very bisexual Human Inquisitor, mostly following the plot of DA: Inquisition. Romance exists in the fic but will not take priority until later on. General reference to themes of depression, violence, abuse of mages, addiction and withdrawal are present throughout the fic. Specific content warnings will appear at the start of chapters.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW: None

Arya Trevelyan awoke, dazed, panting, to freezing cold shackles on her wrists.

She couldn’t remember where she was. There was a ringing in her ears. She felt exhausted. Where...she had seen something...a woman of light? Maker, she was just supposed to be at the Conclave, not even to speak, really. There were plenty of mages from Ostwick present that were her senior, far more capable of expressing the mages’ concerns. Where even were they? Her memories remained too fuzzy to comprehend, and when she pushed deeper, her body erupted in a sense of dread.  _ No. Not now. _

There were more pressing matters, it was true: the chains, for one. On the other hand-her left hand-something was wrong. It pulsed with a dull ache emanating from her palm, sending little fractures of pain up into her fingertips. Her palm glowed a persistent green.

_ Well. That’s new. _

A strong arm jerked Arya up by the collar. She stared into the bright, furious eyes of a harsh looking woman with close-cropped black hair. She wore armor, brightly emblazoned with an eye surrounded in a lyrium sunburst.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now,” she snarled. Her voice was heavily accented...Nevarran? Arya wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

“What’s going on?” she settled on, finally.

The woman looked unimpressed. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead...except for you.” Her grip tightened.

“And...you think I’m responsible?” Arya replied, trying to fight the growing panic in her chest. Everyone, dead? She couldn’t even remember it. She couldn’t have caused that kind of destruction...she couldn’t.

The Nevarran, dissatisfied with her answer, proceeded to grab at Arya’s left arm instead. She flinched at the responsive pain in her palm. “Explain this.” She gestured to the glowing mark emanating from her hand.

In less dire circumstances, Arya might have testily remarked that if she knew what was happening with her hand, she definitely wouldn’t be here. But she preferred keeping her head attached to her shoulders, so she decided on earnestly answering that she had no idea what it was.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” She meant just that. “You’re lying.” She wasn’t. The Nevarran seemed about ready to throttle Arya, but she stopped as another woman placed a hand on her shoulder.

“We need her, Cassandra.” So the Nevarran was named Cassandra, then. The second woman had a surprisingly light and distinctly Orlesian voice. Her face was shrouded in a purple hood, and Arya could see short, red hair just peeking out from under it. While Arya was certainly happy that the redhead had kept Cassandra from completely throttling her, she still wasn’t sure who was the bigger threat between them.

The redhead fixed her eyes on Arya. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

Arya sighed. “I don’t remember much of anything. I was...running. A bunch of...very large spiders. Some woman-”

“A woman?”

“I…” Arya racked her brain, worried that she wasn’t providing them enough to make her worth sparing. Unfortunately, no new revelations came. “She reached out to me, I think. I don’t remember.”

The redhead looked as though she were ready to press Arya further, but Cassandra stopped her with a shake of her head. The scowl remained firmly set on her face. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the Rift.”

Arya found them to be a strange pair of interrogators.  _ Why’d they even bother not introducing themselves, if they were just going to say their names anyhow? _

Leliana nodded and exited the chamber. Cassandra approached Arya again, but this time removed the stocks from her wrists. Her hands, however, remained tied. Arya supposed she wasn’t anything close to trustworthy, yet.

Cassandra led her out of the chamber and into the daylight. It blinded her for a moment- _ Maker,  _ how long had it been since she’d seen the outside? As they continued on, Arya saw what she assumed was the rift that Cassandra and Leliana had been so concerned about. A giant tear appeared in the sky itself, bursting with green energy. It was hard to concentrate on, almost like it ripped the fabric of reality. And of course, its sickly green color matched what emanated from her left hand all too perfectly. Arya grudgingly understood why they thought this was her doing.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra explained. “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“What kind of explosion would even cause this?”

“That, we do not know. But unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

As if to emphasize the point, the mark on Arya’s hand flared, pain radiating into her forearm. She doubled over, nauseous.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads. And it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.” 

Of course. Not like her day could get any worse, what with everyone at the damned Conclave dead. “And how exactly is this mark going to stop anything?”

They continued trudging through the snow. “We hope that it can close the Breach. Whether that’s possible is something we will discover shortly. It is our only chance, however.” Cassandra paused, fixing Arya with a dour stare. “And yours.”

“So I can...fix the mess you’re convinced I started in the first place? You truly think I did this?”

Cassandra gave the slightest quirk of a brow. “Not intentionally. Something  _ clearly  _ went wrong.”

“And what if I’m not responsible for this at all?”

“ _ Someone _ is, and you are our only suspect. You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.”

Arya felt the eyes of other soldiers on her as Cassandra continued to lead her to the Breach. She could hear the agitated whispers, although she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Probably nothing good. If they knew she was a mage, surely worse. “I get the impression I don’t really have a choice.”

Cassandra didn’t seem to disagree. “They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy. The conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together, and now they are dead.” Arya bit her tongue to keep from scoffing. In the days leading up to the Conclave, she remembered that many of the mages she knew were less than optimistic about the chance for peace. She certainly didn’t think it would happen, despite all of the nice effort. Given her current position, however, she was sure that any kind of criticism of the Chantry would get her into more trouble anyway.

If Cassandra took her silence as disagreement, she didn’t show it. “We lash out, but we must think of more than ourselves, as she did. Until the breach is sealed.” She removed a dagger from her belt and removed Arya’s bindings with a quick slash. “There will be a trial. I can promise no more. Come, it is not far.”


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's mark is put to the test.

Approaching the Breach was a difficult task, and Arya still felt drained. Her time in the Circle had trained her well in magic, but since the explosion, she felt weaker than usual. She was strong, but not in the way of Cassandra, who was clearly used to fighting. Arya was good at lifting things. She wasn’t good at running around and playing soldier. She struggled to keep up with Cassandra as they rushed through the snow. An explosion from the rift turned the bridge they were passing through into a pile of rubble. They fell to the clearing below, and while Arya was still wiping the dust from her face, Cassandra had already begun attacking a demon that appeared before them, writhing and angry. More shades advanced though, and with Cassandra preoccupied, Arya managed to find a discarded staff and blast the creatures with chain lightning. The staff was clunkier in her hands than the one she was used to, but it did the job. Maker, she hoped that she didn’t look like an entire idiot.

Arya turned from her handiwork to see that Cassandra had drawn her sword, the wickedly sharp point directed at her chest.

“Drop your weapon. Now.”

The utter nonsense of the situation started to grate on Arya’s nerves. Had Cassandra expected her to just punch whatever demons got too close? “If you need me to fix this, then I need protection, and I can’t rely on you to be my bodyguard against this many demons while I’m defenseless.”

“You’re a mage. You can defend yourself even without a formal weapon.”

“If I’m a threat either way, what does it matter if I have a staff with me?”

Cassandra sighed and sheathed her sword, apparently unable to come up with an adequate rebuttal. “You don’t need a staff...but you should have one. I cannot protect you.” She gestured for Arya to continue toward the rift. “I should remember you decided to come willingly.”

When they arrived at the rift, Arya felt her mark respond to the thing, but still felt lost on what precisely she was meant to do. Before she could ask, an incredibly bald elf grabbed her by the wrist and wrenched her arm up to connect to the rift. Without much prompting, a beam of light connected from Arya’s palm to the rift. It didn’t hurt quite as much as it tugged, deeply. 

Solas, the elf, seemed more knowledgeable about the rifts than anyone, and had apparently kept her alive while she was unconscious. Hopefully, if there was time later, she’d be able to actually thank him for that. Maybe she’d even get the chance to ask him more about his magic experience. He was a true apostate-never trained in the Circle, although that in itself carried its own dangers.

They’d also been joined by Varric Tethras, the author, and apparently another prisoner. She liked him-not just because it seemed like everything he said had the capacity to piss Cassandra off. No, Varric was strangely charming, had named his bloody crossbow, and didn’t look at Arya like she was about to destroy something. Arya liked him.

The group had been unable to use the road to get to the forward camp, instead trekking through the forest. Still more people gave Arya a wide berth as soon as they saw that her hand was bathed in light. Arya supposed it was better than people attacking her outright, but not by much.

That was, until a man in Chantry robes demanded that Arya be dragged to Val Royeaux for her execution. Chancellor Roderick, as he’d been derisively called, seemed to have precious little standing in the presence of Cassandra and Leliana, but Maker forbid that stop the man from talking.

Arya had rather had enough. “Isn’t closing the Breach the more pressing issue here?”

Chancellor Roderick looked at Arya as though the very fact she’d spoken was a personal affront. “You brought this on us in the first place!” he spat, turning his attention to Cassandra. “Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

“We can stop this, before it’s too late,” Cassandra replied.

“How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the Temple, even with all your soldiers.”

“We must get to the Temple. It’s the quickest route.” Cassandra gestured straight ahead. Arya could hear the shouts of soldiers in the distance.

“But not the safest,” interjected Leliana. “Our forces can cause a distraction while we go through the mountains.”

The mountains cut a jagged, angry line into the sky. The path they’d been on already had been enough trouble. The pain in Arya’s hand had died down for the time being, but Arya wasn’t excited by the idea of collapsing on a damned mountain pass if it started up again. Cassandra seemed to have similar concerns. “We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It’s too risky.”

“Listen to me,” Chancellor Roderick said. Abandon this now, before more lives are lost!”

The Breach punctuated his remark, light pulsing outward. Arya hissed in pain. She didn’t know how many more times that would happen before her arm just fell off.

Cassandra turned to her. “How do you think we should proceed?”

“I’m your prisoner. What does my opinion matter?”

“You are the one we must keep alive. Since we cannot agree on our own, the decision is up to you.”

The idea of a direct clash didn’t particularly appeal to Arya, but the mountain looked woefully out of the way. Even if they made it through, she’d probably slow them down considerably, costing them valuable time. Time they needed to deal with the Breach.

Her mana was slowly rebuilding, and with enough soldiers, she hoped that she wouldn’t get entirely cornered by enemies.

“We don’t have time to waste,” Arya said, with surprising confidence. “We charge ahead.”

* * *

“Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.” Solas offered Arya a small, bemused smile.

“Let’s hope it works on the big one,” Varric called as he wiped blood off of his crossbow.

Arya gave a strained laugh. “Sure can hope. It’s not as though if it doesn’t work, we’ll get absolutely overrun by demons or anything.” She needed the confidence boost of sealing another rift. Advancing with the soldiers had proven to be a sound choice, but it wasn’t without difficulty. Two shades had cornered her, and had it not been for the person who’d effectively cleaved them in half with a swing of their sword, Arya might not have made it to the rift in the first place.

The soldier, whose face was inscrutable under the absolutely  _ giant _ lion helmet they wore, seemed to stare at her for just a second before running back into the fray. She’d managed to return the favor later, sending a paralyzing blast of lightning at a terror demon that bore down on the lion-soldier, allowing them to make quick work of the creature. Arya wasn’t sure if they had noticed that she’d been the one to help. A small part of her hoped they had. She didn’t want to be seen as wholly incompetent.

Incidentally, the lion-soldier had reappeared, though this time without the helmet. He was strikingly handsome despite his serious demeanor, blonde hair slicked back and stubble dotting his face. A thin scar stretched through the side of his top lip. The furred mantle-the same one Arya had seen before, framed his broad shoulders. His amber eyes were focused, intense.

The lion-soldier jogged up to Cassandra. “Lady Cassandra, you closed the rift. Well done.”

Cassandra shook her head, gesturing to Arya. “Do not congratulate me, Commander. This was the prisoner’s doing.”

“Is it?” The Commander looked downright surprised. Arya supposed she couldn’t blame him. “I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.”

Arya could see his mouth curl in distaste. So much for impressing him, then. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t tried. “Can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all we can ask,” he replied, redirecting his attention to Cassandra. “The way to the temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

“Then we’d best move quickly,” Cassandra said, gesturing to the group to get ready to move. “Give us time, Commander.”

“Maker watch over you, for all our sakes.” The Commander ran off, stopping to help one of the injured get inside the camp. Cassandra led Arya and the others down toward the temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We continue to crawl through the beginning of the game, lol. Thanks for reading!


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group arrives at the temple. The Inquisition is formed.

The Temple of Sacred Ashes, now mostly a pile of rubble, was bursting with something called red lyrium. Varric had jerked Arya back from nearly colliding with a chunk of it when she turned a corner too quickly. Varric warned her that red lyrium was particularly nasty stuff, not like the kind mages use, and that she should keep away from it. 

As they continued through, Arya ignored the bile building in her throat.  _ Maker, I was just here. So many people… _ They passed charred remains as they continued onward. Which of these people had she talked to? Had she passed by any of her traveling companions? There was no way to tell. It hurt all the same, grief and confusion squeezing at her chest. She could have been any one of them-probably should have been, she was hardly the strongest person there-but here she was, alive. Responsible for saving even more people.

“Come on, kid. I know it’s hard, but it won’t do you any good standing here like a cornered deer,” Varric said, gesturing onward. Arya shook her head and jogged to catch up with Cassandra and Solas.

At the center of the temple, they’d met with Leliana and several of the soldiers, who Cassandra instructed to guard the perimeter. She walked over to Arya, who was staring at the Breach, wide eyed. “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

There was a smaller rift further below, but the Breach itself sat high in the sky. “No idea how I’ll get up there, but sure.”

Solas directed Arya's attention downward, shaking his head. “No. This rift is first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

Arya sighed in relief. “Alright. That’s an easier target, at least.”

“Let’s find a way down, and be careful,” Cassandra said, rushing further into the temple.

* * *

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

The voice boomed throughout the air, dark, threatening. Gooseflesh covered Arya’s arms. The group headed closer still to the rift.

“Someone, help me!”

“What’s going on here?”

Arya froze as the others turned to look at her. Cassandra was frantic, her voice strained. “That...was your voice. Most Holy called out to you, but-”

The rift pulsed outward in a blast of green energy, and the echoes of a memory Arya had been unable to access bled out.

Divine Justinia, floating in the air, held by red tendrils of energy that snaked around her body. A figure, body almost made of shadows, towered above the Divine, eyes glowing red. Arya saw herself, bursting into the room.

“What in the-” Arya heard the echo of herself say.

The Divine turned toward her echo. “Run while you can! Warn them!” Arya saw herself tense, caught in a moment of indecision. Her own stomach lurched. The fear that had taken root in her at the Conclave had returned.

The shadowed figure turned his gaze to her. “We have an intruder,” it said. “Kill her.”

The rift flared yet again, vision dissipating, and Cassandra rushed over to Arya, grasping her by the shoulders. “You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, was she? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?!”

Arya’s body didn’t feel like her own. “I don’t remember.” Her voice sounded hollow in her ears. Damn it, she was trying. Having such an important chunk of memory missing terrified her, but it just refused to come. 

Solas stepped to Arya’s side, giving Cassandra a pointed look. She looked about ready to strangle Solas for a moment, but eventually stepped back from Arya, a hand going up to massage her temples.

“They’re echoes of what’s happened here,” Solas said. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed, albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons! Stand ready!” Cassandra barked to the soldiers that remained with them. They drew their swords and nocked arrows in preparation, and Arya raised her marked hand to the rift. The light from her hand began to connect with the rift, and she began to feel the tug that was becoming all too familiar.

As expected, the rift protested the intrusion, shooting out a bright green flare that quickly transformed into a hulking Pride demon. Cassandra and the others charged as Arya remained put, energy focused on sealing the rift. The sounds of the skirmish threatened to break her attention. A small part of her screamed that she should be  _ helping them _ ,  _ damn it _ , but she remained rooted to the spot. The rift was her responsibility, not the demon. If she stopped to help the others they could end up in even more trouble.

Arya closed her fist and jerked her arm back, and the rift collapsed within itself. Had she done it, then? She looked up, saw the green light of the Breach begin to recede, then pulse out in a shockwave. Blinding light emanated outward from the Breach, the pure force of it knocking Arya on her back.

* * *

Arya awoke in an actual bed, which was perhaps the best thing to happen to her in several days. She’d been stripped down from the armor she was wearing before into simple leathers. While she was glad that whoever had taken her to the shed she was in hadn’t left her in metal armor, she was less enthused at the idea that someone had undressed her without her realizing.  She looked at her left hand, and was greeted with the glow of the mark still present. Part of her had expected that maybe it would simply disappear once she had dealt with the Breach. Wishful thinking, probably. Or an indication that she wasn’t done with her task yet. She wasn’t chained again, thankfully, but she was surely still a prisoner. A lone mage with a dangerously powerful mark. Arya imagined, somewhat amused, that the Chantry would be having a fit.

A young elf walked into the room with a tray, promptly realized Arya was awake, and proceeded to drop it on the floor. Skittish girl. Poor thing probably thought Arya might kill her.

“It’s alright,” Arya said, raising her hands slightly in a gesture that she hoped seemed peaceful.

“I didn’t realize you were awake! I’m so sorry-” the girl scrambled to pick up the tray.

Arya sighed. “You can relax, it’s just a-” The elf had suddenly fallen to the floor in front of her...bowing. Not what she’d expected.

“I beg your forgiveness, and your blessing. I am but a humble servant. You...you are back in Haven, my lady. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days.”

“You...really don’t have to bow, or anything. If the Breach is still in the sky, this likely isn’t done yet.”

The elf scrambled to her feet. “I...if you insist, my Lady. I’m certain the Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve wakened. She said, ‘at once’!”

Arya tried to keep her face neutral, for fear she might give the little elf a heart attack. “I’m sure she did. Where is she, then?”

“In the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor. At once, she said.” Before Arya could question her further, the elf ran off, the door slamming closed behind her.

_ So I’ve gone from prisoner to ‘my lady’. Strange range of opinions people have here. _ Arya hadn’t been called ‘my lady’ since she was a child, unless she counted when other mages at the circle used it as a joke. She’d been stripped of her nobility as a member of House Trevelyan for several years. ‘Arya’, people usually called her. Or simply ‘Trevelyan’. When she was lucky, the apprentices at Ostwick called her ‘Enchanter Trevelyan’. Never ‘my lady’. She wasn’t sure that she liked the title, anymore.

Arya didn’t bother with putting her armor back on, but she did grab her cloak, which was mostly undamaged. She exited the room and started off for the Chantry, hoping for answers from Cassandra.

* * *

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”

Cassandra, Leliana, and Chancellor Roderick appeared to be in a heated discussion about the state of the Breach when Arya entered the room. As expected, when Chancellor Roderick realized her newfound presence, his face twisted in anger.

Well, it was a comfort to know at least he still wanted her dead. The world had not entirely turned upside down. “I  _ did _ almost die trying to close the thing, Lord Chancellor.”

The man sneered. “Yet you live. A convenient result insofar as you’re concerned.”

Arya scowled, crossing her arms. “I’ll be sure to die quite clearly next time I keep the sky from falling apart, then, if you’d prefer?”

Perhaps she had pressed her luck a bit too far with that one. She heard the clink of armor from the Templars who’d previously vacated the room under Cassandra’s order. Chancellor Roderick looked about ready to order them in again, but Cassandra interjected.

“Have a care, Chancellor. The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

Leliana stepped closer to the Chancellor, gaze predatory. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others...or have allies who yet live.”

“ _I_ am a suspect?!” he asked, indignant.

“You and many others.”

“But not the prisoner,” Roderick spat. Arya almost wished she’d been able to take a staff with her, but of course, they’d not left one in the shed. Cassandra and Leliana might not be on the Chancellor’s side, but that certainly didn’t mean they were on  _ hers _ . The only other mage she’d seen in the whole place was Solas, and she’d already seen more templars than she cared to. She was free to walk around, but only for as long as she complied.

“I heard the voices in the temple,” Cassandra continued, resting a hand on the table. “The Divine called to her for help.”

“So her survival, that  _ thing  _ on her hand, all a coincidence?”

_ Yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to say this whole time, _ Arya thought bitterly.

“Providence,” answered Cassandra. Arya fought the urge to gag. “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour. We lost everything...then out of nowhere, you came.”

Well, if supposed providence was the thing keeping her alive, Arya would take it.

Leliana nodded. “The Breach remains. And your mark is still our only hope of closing it.”

“This is  _ not  _ for you to decide.” Chancellor Roderick seemed determined as ever to prove his importance.

Cassandra shot him with a withering glare, then slammed a thick book, emblazoned with an eye, on the table. “You know what this is, Chancellor? A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We  _ will _ close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order  _ with or without _ your approval.”

Sufficiently scandalized, Chancellor Roderick gave the three women an indignant glare and turned on his heel, striding out of the room.

Arya couldn’t help the smile that formed at the corner of her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking I'll try to at least update every Saturday, but I'll probably shoot out at least one extra chapter this week. Hope folks are staying healthy.


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya meets the advisers of the Inquisition.

The idea of meeting the advisers of the newly-formed Inquisition was terrifying. Arya knew Leliana and Cassandra, of course, but that wasn’t exactly a comfort. They weren’t going to kill her, at least not yet. Leliana was effectively impossible to read. Arya supposed it came with the terrain, given that she was their spymaster. She wondered how many of Leliana’s scouts watched her. Too many for her comfort. It reminded Arya too much of the Circle, the endless eyes of templars on her. Given that the ‘Inquisition of old’ apparently turned into the Order itself, she didn’t have high hopes for what this new Inquisition might become. 

“Arya, I’d like to introduce you to Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat,” Cassandra said. 

Josephine smiled and gave the slightest curtsy in greeting. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Trevelyan.” She was beautiful, with deep brown skin, kind eyes, and wavy hair pulled back into an updo. If she got to spend time with Josephine, perhaps Arya could get used to the others.

Arya felt more than a little tongue-tied. Pretty much everyone she met in the Inquisition was gorgeous, but Josephine looked less intimidating, at least. “Er, not really a Lady anymore, what with the whole mage thing. But it’s good to meet you.”

“Of course. What would you prefer?”

_ I’d prefer anything you call me, honestly,  _ Arya thought to herself. “Just Arya, I suppose. Or Trevelyan. It is my name.” Josephine nodded.

“And this,” Cassandra continued, “is Commander Cullen Rutherford. He leads our military force and serves as a tactical advisor.”

Commander Cullen Rutherford stood tall and assured, in full plate armor. A furred mantle rested atop his broad shoulders, one she recognized. So the lion-soldier from before led the army. “It was only for a moment on the field. I’m pleased to hear you’ve survived.”

The words were complimentary, but the voice was stern. His amber eyes were piercing, and Arya tried to avoid them. She remembered him in the battlefield, and he set her on edge. He was certainly no stranger to a fight, and wielded the sword with power and control. If he commanded the Inquisition’s entire army, he surely wasn’t a sellsword. His was a position that required discipline, required leadership. Arya’s eyes traveled from his face to his vambraces, and she stiffened.

_ A position that required a templar. _ Arya looked at the rest of them, who seemed neutral, awaiting her response. She stepped back slightly, surveying the room. Did they want her to know that she would be on a short leash? Could she leave? Would they just shackle her again? Would the Commander simply kill her? She had no weapons, other than her magic.  _ Shit. _

“Is everything all right, Arya?” Cassandra asked.

“You...what is this?” Arya asked, panic rising in her voice. “Some kind of trick?” 

The advisers shared a confused look, seeming to decide between them what to say. Josephine answered, finally. “It is just an introduction, Arya. We understand that recent events have been...confusing.”

She noticed the Commander move to rest his hands on the hilt of his sword. So she was a liability, then. A mistake, an accident, that they needed to control. So much for her presence being an act of providence.

“What’s more confusing is that you’ve brought me here with a  _ Templar _ ,” Arya hissed. 

“ _ Former _ templar,” Cassandra corrected. “I assure you, we are singularly focused on sealing the Breach, with your help, ideally.”

“I can’t imagine that a former  _ fucking  _ templar has any desire to just let me help.” Arya’s hand curled into a fist. She didn’t need the staff to hurt anyone, but her magic would be less controlled, and she was outnumbered. The Commander might purge her magic before she even got the chance to cast anything.

The Commander finally spoke, sounding rather strained. “I can understand your...concerns, but none of us are here to harm you. You’ve proved yourself to be willing to help in the Frostbacks.”

Leliana and Cassandra shared a look that Arya couldn’t read.

“So you expect me to believe that what, you were one of the ‘good templars’?” Arya scoffed. “Can you honestly tell me that you wanted a mage to hold this power?” She stepped closer, holding up her marked hand, ice flickering at her fingertips. “That this doesn’t bother you?” She meant it as a test, to see how far she could push before he took action.

She could see the doubt in his eyes. Templars so often had that doubt. The anticipation for magic to flare out of control. The Commander seemed to take a moment to parse out his words. “I will admit that I’ve seen the suffering that magic can inflict on others. I’ve treated mages with distrust because of it in the past-sometimes without cause. It was...unworthy of me. I will try not to do so here.”

“Oh, you’ll try. How  _ gracious  _ of you, Commander Rutherford. I suppose I should try to forget, then? Forget the templars’ constant eyes on me, waiting for me to slip? Forget the sword at my back when I was thrust into my Harrowing?” Arya’s voice was icy as she worked to contain the anger building in her gut.

“I never said-” Cullen was cut off by Cassandra before he could finish, and stepped back, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

Cassandra turned to Arya. “ We do not expect you to forget your past experiences with the Order. But we do ask that you prioritize the fate of the entirety of Thedas over your issues. You are free to leave, but like it or not, we will likely be unable to stop this without your aid, and  _ you _ cannot solve this alone.”

Arya didn’t like it, but Cassandra was right. She could leave, but what was the point? The rifts certainly weren’t going to suddenly get better, and she barely understood her mark. She...didn’t want to be alone again, even if that did mean that she’d have to constantly be on guard with the Commander. And as much as Cassandra had insisted she was no longer a prisoner, she was almost certain that Leliana would simply send people after her if she ran away.

“...I’ll do whatever the Inquisition needs me to. Send me out wherever, have me close the rifts. I do want to help. But if  _ he-” _ she jabbed an accusatory finger in the Commander’s direction- _ “ _ becomes a threat to me, I will  _ not  _ hesitate to protect myself. I did not leave the Circle just to be dragged into another prison.”

Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine nodded. The Commander avoided her gaze.

“We’ll give you some time to settle in before we send you out anywhere, but we still have business to discuss,” Leliana said, finally. “Josie, do you mind--”

“Of course. We can continue this after we find you a place to stay.” Josephine led Arya out of the war room, wasting no time to distract her with questions about her lodging preferences.

* * *

Josephine managed to bring a calmer Arya back to the other advisors after assuring her that outside of meetings with the advisers, they would work to keep her interactions with Commander Rutherford to a minimum.

“The Commander is a commendable force on the battlefield, but Leliana and I lead most of the meetings,” Josephine said as they walked through the halls. “Quite a bit of politics. He tries to keep out of it.”

Arya grumbled a bit, but acquiesced. The less Rutherford talked, the better she’d be able to tolerate him. He was expected to remain with the troops, where she would be heading out into the field often and with a small group of companions, so their paths would cross little. 

Entering back to the makeshift war room was...awkward, to say the least. The Commander seemed altogether unsure if he should pay attention to Arya or ignore her entirely. Arya, on the other hand, refused to take her eyes off of him. He would not catch her off guard. Cassandra and Leliana briefly mentioned the Inquisition’s next goal of reaching out either to the Templars or the rebel mages for additional assistance, but conversation on the subject was quickly put to a stop as Cullen began to bicker with Leliana about why the Templars were a better choice. Arya began to eye the doors.

“Regardless, neither group will ally with us anytime soon,” Josephine interjected, polite but insistent. “The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition, and the Herald specifically.” The Commander had the dignity to look frustrated at the mention of the Chantry, at least.

Arya tugged at her collar. “The Herald? That’s a new one.”

Josephine explained. “They’re calling you, a mage, the Herald of Andraste. That frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have called it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” Cassandra remarked.

Arya was torn between disgust at her newfound title or annoyance with the Chantry for calling her a blasphemer. She held no love for the Chantry, but she wanted to believe that the Maker watched over them, and didn’t despise her very existence. She settled on annoyance. “So even when the fate of Thedas is at stake, the Chantry can’t accept a mage with a modicum of power. I shouldn’t be surprised. Why not reject my title, then, if it brands me a mage heretic?”

Leliana shook her head. “Even if we had the ability to quell the idea, we have no intention of doing so. Everyone is curious about you. We can use that to our advantage.”

“It is quite the title,” Cullen agreed. “How do you feel about it?” He seemed to regret asking, as the moment he made eye contact with Arya his right hand shot to the back of his neck.

Arya cocked a disbelieving brow at him. Was he trying to take her for a fool? Say that this was too much responsibility for her?

“I don’t...love it. Seems to paint me as either a symbol of hope or a symbol of everything gone wrong with the world. But if it has the Chantry’s robes in a twist, so much the better. Let them be uncomfortable.”

The Commander seemed...unsure...about her answer. Fine. Let him be uncomfortable, too.

“Don’t speak about the Chantry so soon,” Leliana interjected, the smallest quirk of a smile on her lips. “Not everyone has outright denounced you. Revered Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you personally, and we strongly believe you should. She could provide great assistance to our cause. You’ll need to go to the Hinterlands--she is helping to provide relief for refugees of the mage-templar war.”

Speak with the last decent person in the Chantry, then. Arya could do that.


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Into the Hinterlands.

Meeting Lead Scout Harding was perhaps Arya’s favorite part of journeying through the Hinterlands. The temperate climate and farmlands were nice, but the place seemed to be crawling with bears. While Arya enjoyed Solas, Varric, and Cassandra, the three could make for a strangely tense group. Cassandra and Varric fought like an old married couple, and one could only take but so much of Solas waxing philosophical about the Fade. The apostate was fascinating, but something about the tenor of his voice made Arya’s eyes glaze over within minutes.

But meeting Scout Harding? Perhaps the nicest dwarf she’d ever met? The most adorable freckles lighting up her face? That didn’t hate that she was a mage?  _ Maker,  _ Arya could cry. After fumbling over introductions, she briefly contemplated giving up on being the Herald of Andraste and seeing if she could just be one of the Inquisition’s scouts instead. 

Harding knew the Hinterlands well, having grown up there, and was familiar with the crossroads, where Mother Giselle had set up camp. She also knew of a horsemaster named Dennet, who seemed like a good person to look for when they had the time. Hopefully the old man hadn’t gotten completely caught up in the crossfire between the mages and templars in the area.

The fighting between the mages and templars was...not good. Both groups battled viciously, with little care for the civilians they terrorized in the process, or for the Inquisition’s attempts to interfere. Arya had hoped that they might get the templars to retreat, but they refused. Cassandra’s repeated attempts to explain that they were not apostates fell on deaf ears. Dealing with Templars within Ostwick Circle was one thing. They were bullies, jailers, but Arya had never been in direct combat with one. She’d been Silenced by a templar before, but not while he was thrusting a sword in her direction. She’d been ready to freeze the man in place, but the tingling fire that surged through her body informed her quite clearly that her efforts had been rebuffed. She’d scrambled away from her attacker, defenseless, frantically reaching within herself to access her mana again. But nothing happened, and the Templar continued to barrel towards her, ready to strike a killing blow.

Varric, thank the Maker, hit the templar with a crossbow bolt, lodged firmly in the man’s neck. His sword clattered to the ground as he fell, clutching at the spot where his neck had begun to spurt blood.

The faceless templar was the first person Arya had seen killed in front of her. He would not be the last. 

The fire in Arya’s body subsided, replaced by a cool wave of replenished mana. Arya jumped back into the fray, a biting Winter’s Grasp erupting from the tip of her staff.

* * *

Injured refugees and civilians lined the streets of the crossroads. The village held only a few houses and rudimentary walls. Arya gave a quick nod to the soldiers that posted the Inquisition’s banner into the path as they saluted. She hoped that she seemed stately, rather than shaken by the templar that came far too close to killing her. 

They found Mother Giselle, clearly identifiable by her Chantry robes and tall headdress, tending to a wounded soldier outside one of the buildings. The man was propped up on a makeshift bed, too injured to get up but lucid enough to resist any help from the healers.

“Don’t...let them touch me, Mother. Their magic…” The man’s voice trembled. 

_ If he’s so afraid of mages, he doesn’t have to see one of them for healing _ , thought Arya. It would do little good for him if he struggled while someone attempted to help.

“Turned to noble purpose, their magic is surely no more evil than your blade,” replied Mother Giselle, voice quiet and reassuring. 

“But-”

“Hush, dear boy. Allow them to ease your suffering.”

So Leliana was right then-Mother Giselle was surprisingly sympathetic. Few Chantry clerics that Arya encountered spoke of magic without justifying a non-mage’s fear. Arya looked at Solas, eyebrows raised in surprise. If he recognized her pointed glance, he did little to show it.  _ Maker’s breath _ , were all the fun mages forbidden from joining the Inquisition?

Deciding that Solas was a lost cause for anything more than academic discussions, Arya turned to introduce herself to Mother Giselle. Her understanding of the Chantry’s politics were particularly helpful. She was certain that many clerics in the Chantry were using Arya’s sudden arrival as the Herald of Andraste in a bid to be named the next Divine. Attempts to present themselves as strong leaders, prepared to combat Thedas’ newest villain. But some were genuinely terrified, grieving over the events of the Conclave. Never mind that Arya was trying to help, or that she grieved the Conclave too.

“Fear makes us desperate, but hopefully not beyond reason,” Mother Giselle said. “Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe.”

“I’m not...opposed to trying,” Arya replied, “but they do want me dead. They might just arrest me in Val Royeaux before I get the chance to do anything.”

“Let me put it this way. You needn’t convince them all, you just need some of them to...doubt. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them, and you receive the time you need. I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate, or sent to help us, but I hope. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us, or destroy us.”

“If those are my only options, I certainly hope that I can offer deliverance.” Arya offered a weak chuckle, thumbing the fabric of her cloak. Sowing doubt in the Chantry was something she could try. Getting them to change their mind about the Inquisition would likely be a harder task. But she wasn’t there to lead the Inquisition. She was an accident, an accident who, hopefully, could be of use. Surely the whole point of having advisers for the Inquisition was for one of them to lead. One of them would command the Inquisition to glory, she would deal with the rifts in the sky, and...then what? The war between mages and templars hadn’t stopped. A new Divine could restart the Circles, force her back into confinement or apostasy. No amount of aiding the Inquisition would help Arya escape that.

Unless she died before that happened, which was all too likely. She wasn’t sure if she should try to find comfort in that.

* * *

With the crossroads protected, Mother Giselle readily agreed to travel to Haven and give Leliana more details on the clerics whose opinions of the Inquisition might be swayed. Leliana did her best to maintain a cool expression when Arya relayed her the news in the war room, but Arya could see the excited glint in her eyes. The spymaster did love the prospect of new secrets.

“Of course, the usefulness of this knowledge does depend on me actually  _ going _ to Val Royeaux,” Arya said, finishing her report for the war council. She crossed her arms and shifted uncomfortably, eyes drifting to Cassandra, who nodded. It was harder than she expected to recount all of the important details of their trip to the Hinterlands coherently, and Cassandra had to fill in quite a few gaps. The Commander had suggested writing the field report down and sending it ahead, next time. Arya avoided giving much of a response. All of their meetings couldn’t devolve into petty squabbles. They’d never get anything done.

“Going to the clerics might not be a terrible idea,” Josephine pointed out, tapping a quill on her clipboard.

“You can’t be serious,” Cullen shot back. 

“Mother Giselle isn’t wrong. At the moment, the Chantry’s only strength is their united opinion.”

Arya watched as Cullen began to pace around the table, running a hand through his hair. She decided against commenting on his displeasure with the Chantry...the man seemed stressed enough, and she worried that Cullen might burst into a tirade about the Chantry’s disrespect of the templars.

Leliana crossed her arms behind her back. “And we would ignore the danger to the Herald?”

Arya shrugged. “I don’t like the idea of going, although Mother Giselle seemed convinced that I wouldn’t be under immediate threat. But honestly, I may not be able to get anyone on the Inquisition’s side in the first place.”

“I agree. It just lends credence to the idea that we should care what the Chantry says.” Cullen steadied himself, arms crossed at the hilt of his sword. Arya was pleasantly surprised that he’d agreed with her-not that it was shocking for a templar to feel jilted by the Chantry these days. Perhaps he wasn’t a complete tool.

Cassandra stepped forward. “I will go with her. Mother Giselle said she could provide us names. Use them.”

“But why?” Leliana was insistent. “It’s nothing but a-”

“What choice do we have, Leliana?” Cassandra fixed her with an unwavering stare. “Right now we can’t approach anyone to help with the Breach. Use what influence we have to call the clerics together. Once they are ready, we will see this through.”

Cullen and Leliana looked ready to argue the matter further, but Arya brushed them off with a quick wave of her hand. For people that had created an entire organization to fight a holy war, they were certainly distrustful of their own religious organization. She might eventually even find their concern endearing. “No need to stretch this further, Cassandra’s right. Even if we do avoid this, the Chantry would probably come calling for my head anyway.”

The group having come to a consensus, Arya quickly asked to excuse herself. She and Cassandra had, after all, only just returned with the rest of their party, and her back was  _ killing  _ her. A hot bath and an actual bed to collapse into were her main priorities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Quick aside-Scout Harding is a delight and a darling and we deserve a full romance option with her in DA4. Please?


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya gets some downtime back at Haven.

A moment of genuine relaxation after more than a week of hard travel in the Hinterlands was a joy like no other, Arya had concluded. She’d almost fallen asleep in the baths after meticulously scrubbing the dirt from her skin, wet curls floating out in the water like a halo around her. Stripped naked, the Herald of Andraste was far less recognizable, so the most she heard from others was concern that ‘the new recruit might have passed out in the water’. Whenever they got too close, she wiggled her unmarked hand to signal that she was, in fact, still alive.

Arya slept like the dead when she arrived back at her room, though. She’d planned on waking up before dinner, but the beam of light streaming in through the window told her it was well into the next day. She was surprised her slumber had gone undisturbed. She did have roommates in her quarters, with who she had engaged in very brief, surface-level conversations. Haven had space, but not enough to ensure Arya a private room, and she’d been too awkward to ask Josephine about getting one. But she hadn’t seen her roommates since she’d arrived. She was fairly certain at least one of them was a scout waiting for her next rotation. Perhaps they’d been out, too.

After freshening up and grabbing a quick bite from the kitchens, Arya decided to wander around Haven a bit. She had yet to really get familiar with the place, considering how quickly they had left for the Hinterlands. Haven surely had some good spots to find peace and quiet from the rest of the Inquisition-Arya had only to find them.

The Inquisition’s soldiers had the run of most of Haven’s grounds, particularly at the confluence of tents near the field. Arya made a mental note of the routes that allowed her to avoid them. The more soldiers were in a place, the more likely that the Commander would be there too, and the less she saw of the man, the better. Unfortunately, it looked like avoiding the makeshift barracks would mean that she would miss Cassandra, whose favorite pastime appeared to be hitting things with a sword.

Arya ducked into the Singing Maiden tavern, which she was incredibly disappointed to discover was named for a torture device and not some lusty, musically inclined barmaid. Varric sat at the bar with a tankard, engaged in lively conversation with the bartender, a pale woman with short auburn hair and rosy cheeks. The dwarf caught Arya’s eye, waving her over with a smirk. He introduced her briefly to Flissa, who gave a polite nod and exited to the back room, citing a need to check her stock of ale.

“Isn’t it a bit early for drinking, Varric?” asked Arya as she took a seat at the bar.

Varric barked out a laugh. “Says the woman who skipped dinner and walked straight into a bar.”

“Touche, dwarf.”

Varric made a show of looking around the tavern for prying eyes. “So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot...are you holding up alright? I mean you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over a bit more time.”

Arya shrugged. “I mean, I’m certainly still a wanted criminal. I’m just...less of a criminal for the leaders here. If I do manage to save Thedas, perhaps I might avoid the axe.”

“Really?” The dwarf took a drink from his ale. “You don’t strike me as the type who’s just interested in saving their own skin.”

“No, not entirely,” she admitted, fiddling with the glove on her marked hand. “I’m not any kind of chosen one, but...it’d have to be a real coward who runs away from a dangerous situation when they know they can help.”

Varric’s expression turned dark, and he stared into his tankard for a moment before returning his gaze to Arya. “Fair enough.”

“I’m fine though. Still here. That’s the best I can ask for, I think.”

“I still can’t believe you survived Cassandra back there, you know. You’re lucky you missed most of her frothing rage.” Varric gave Arya half of a smile, which she returned.

“Seems like you’re the expert on Cassandra’s rage. With how much the two of you fight, I’m honestly surprised you didn’t leave the first chance you got.”

He shrugged. “I’d like to think I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this? Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them, and now there’s a hole in the sky. Even I can’t just walk away and leave that to sort itself out.”

Despite all of his cavalier attitude, Arya could tell that Varric cared as much about dealing with the rifts as she did. He was a good man. “Well, I’m glad you’re still here, Varric. I do hope you won’t mind coming with us to Val Royeaux. I’ll need you to lift my spirits.”

“Only for you,” he replied. “You could join me in a game of Wicked Grace as thanks, you know.”

* * *

Playing Wicked Grace with Varric Tethras was a mistake, but one that Arya would gladly make again. Whatever coin she lost was made up for in the dwarf’s gift for storytelling. He had the ability to make a story of a man using the privy sound as exciting as a knight riding into battle.

Grand stories aside, Arya had enough dignity to bow out before she had to bet things other than money, and she left the Singing Maiden feeling lighter in spirit. She was light enough, even, to not be bothered by the Orlesian she ran into while looking for Josephine.

Maker above, the Orlesian nobility certainly had a penchant for the ostentatious in their every move. The mustache built into his mask just looked...idiotic. The nobles of the Free Marches at least had the decency to look normal. Her parents always carried that air of confidence and superiority that every noble family did, but they got to wear clothes that made them exude power, and not the image of a child’s doll. 

Josephine seemed unbothered by Arya intruding on her discussion with the Marquis. If anything, it seemed the ambassador had sensed an opportunity. She turned back to the Marquis with a polite smile. “Allow me to introduce you to the brave soul who risked her life to slow the magic of the Breach. Herald Trevelyan, may I present the Marquis DuRellion, one of Divine Justinia’s greatest supporters.”

“And the rightful owner of Haven,” Marquis DuRellion added, the barest hint of annoyance coloring his voice.

Well, this would be good practice for dealing with Val Royeaux, at least. And who wouldn’t want to help Josephine? Arya bowed her head politely to the Marquis. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Marquis.”

Josephine shot her an appreciative glance. “House DuRellion agreed to lend Justinia their lands for a pilgrimage.”

“This...Inquisition is not a beneficiary of this arrangement.”

The Inquisition had been set up at Haven for some time. Removing them now seemed like it would be a difficult venture. “...I hadn’t heard of anyone  _ owning _ Haven, outside of the Chantry,” Arya said carefully. 

The Marquis’ mask obscured just enough of his face to leave Arya confused about whether or not she’d offended him. “My wife has claim to Haven by ancient treaty with the monarchs of Ferelden. We were honored to lend its use to Divine Justinia. She is...was...a woman of supreme merit. I will not let an upstart order remain on her holy grounds.”

Ah. Judging by the finger that was now pointed at her chest, she’d offended him, then. Surprisingly, he’d not explicitly mentioned her in his frustrations. “With all due respect, this upstart order is the one thing standing between the Breach and the rest of Thedas. And there are many wounded here. Would you have them turned out into the snow?”

“And who benefits if they stay?” he retorted.

Josephine’s calm demeanor fell for a moment, her disgust apparent. “Divine Justinia, Marquis. The Inquisition,  _ not _ the Chantry, is sheltering the pilgrims who mourn her.”

The Marquis was taken aback. “Why is the Chantry ignoring the faithful?”

The ambassador had found her advantage. “Because it remains in shock. We face a dark time, your Grace.” She paused as the Marquis shook his head in disbelief, head in his hands. The man wanted his land back, but he was genuinely devout. “Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us. She would, in fact, trust us to form new alliances for the benefit of all, no matter how strange they might seem.”

There was little room for Marquis DuRellion to debate after that, and it seemed the man had lost the will to. After admitting that the Inquisition could stay for the time being, the man made a quick exit from the room. Arya caught Josephine sighing in relief, taking a moment to put her clipboard down.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually doing the whole ‘ambassador’ thing in person. Unless you count keeping meetings on task. You’re quite masterful at it.”

Josephine brushed her off, but a smile graced her lips. “Please, you give me too much credit. The Marquis did not have as much of an advantage as it might have seemed. He would need the Empress negotiating on his behalf to truly claim Haven, and she is otherwise engaged.”

“Lucky for us, then. And here I was, worried that my intrusion would ruin things.”

“Hardly. The more visitors we get here, the more notoriety comes to the Inquisition, which is precisely what we need. If they get the chance to speak to you, even better. Tales of you help us. It’s my job as ambassador to ensure those tales are complimentary.”

  
Maker’s breath, the woman was a force to be reckoned with. The thought of being able to keep track of everything people said about her  _ and _ use it to the Inquisition’s advantage made Arya’s head spin. It was easier to assume people disliked her on principle. “Well, Lady Montilyet, I will do my level best to make your job easier.”


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya just wants peace and quiet, but conflict between mages and templars is not easily avoided.

Since Arya had arrived at Haven, she had realized that she and Solas were not the only mages to grace the Inquisition’s halls, although they were still fairly outnumbered. Most of them were from various Circles across Ferelden and the Free Marches, but none from Ostwick. She had held out the smallest bit of hope for a familiar face, but most of those she knew well in Ostwick had, of course, attended the Conclave.

_ Maker _ , she’d never really given herself time to grieve, had she? It seemed that every moment she had something that needed to be done, something to prepare for. The past few days had been her first real chances at rest since the Breach had emerged. A pang of guilt stabbed in her gut. With how busy she had been, it became so easy to forget. Focusing on solvable problems was far better than trying to comprehend why so many had to die. And now that she’d gotten the chance to relax, the tragedy hadn’t even crossed her mind. She didn’t deserve to enjoy herself, not with so much at stake. Others had died so that she might have a chance to save the rest of Thedas. The least she could do was to take a few moments to reflect on it.

Arya was hardly the most devout of Andrastians, but the Chantry would be as good a place as any to mourn the dead. She might even get the chance for some peace and quiet if she picked the right room.

Her quiet walk to the Chantry was quickly spoiled at the sounds of a growing commotion outside. Two groups had arranged themselves in a stand-off outside the main doors. She recognized one of the older men on the left as a mage she’d spoken with before, Gregor. On the right were several Inquisition soldiers and Haven residents, working themselves into a frothing fury.

_ Ah _ . So it was one of the usual squabbles, then. Mages versus...Templar-adjacent, since any Templar that joined the Inquisition had separated from the Order in name. Certainly not in philosophy.

One of the soldiers separated from the pack, advancing on Gregor. “Your kind killed the Most Holy!”

Gregor gripped his staff. “Lies. Your kind let her die.”

Of course they had to be fighting about the very thing that Arya had planned to reflect on. If her shaky memory of the event was to be believed, both of them were wrong-the shadowy creature was the one who’d killed Justinia. It wasn’t as though any Conclave attendee had stopped the Divine in the hallway and stabbed her, or something.

Arya took a deep inhale through her nose. This argument was unlikely to stop anytime soon, and until it did, she wasn’t getting inside the Chantry unnoticed. She stepped up to the two men, angling herself in front of Gregor and separating them with her staff outstretched. “I think that’s quite enough, sers. What happened at the Conclave was tragic, but pointing fingers at each other doesn’t bring Divine Justinia back.”

A hush came over the crowd, save for agitated whispers as bystanders realized that it was none other than the Herald of Andraste who had inserted herself into the fray.

Gregor quickly stepped back to rejoin the group of mages, but the nameless soldier stood his ground. He was a few inches taller than Arya, his brown eyes flashing with hatred.

“Filthy mage,” he spat. “You dare speak her name, after what you’ve done? After all the suffering you’ve caused?”

Arya steadied her breathing, sliding her staff back into its holster on her back. These people, for better or for worse, saw her as the Herald of Andraste. She couldn’t afford to lose her temper. “I did not kill the Divine, nor did I kill anyone at the Conclave. I lost people there too.”

“And yet you remain standing, with a power that could doom us all. The Chancellor is right. Your treacherous head should serve as an example to any mages that they should  _ know their place _ .” His sword arm drifted dangerously close to the hilt of his blade. Arya’s eyes darted from the man’s helmeted face to his hands. She didn’t need to pull out her staff again to freeze him, and given how close he was to her, she doubted he would give her the chance. It would be fine. She could control her magic enough to target only him, even without using the staff as her focus.

However, it wouldn’t matter if he was a Templar, and managed to cut off her magic before she could stop him.  _ Shit _ . She had to keep him calm. “I’m headed to Val Royeaux soon enough,” she breathed out. “I assure you, the Chantry will judge me there.”

“Unless you murder them too.”

Arya just barely shot back as the soldier began to draw his sword. Before he could complete his attack, however, the Commander was on him in a flash, pinning his arm and sending the sword clattering to the ground. The remaining crowd gasped, some less adventurous members scattering at the sight of the commotion.

With his back turned to her, Arya missed the fury alight in the Commander’s eyes, but the offending soldier understood as plain as day.

“Knight-Captain!” the man choked out.

“That is  _ not _ my title,” Cullen spat, voice loud and clear to anyone at the Chantry’s entrance. “We are not templars any longer, and you have no authority to make an attempt on the life of the woman who closed the Breach and is attempting to save your sorry hide. Get out of my sight.” His voice alone cut sharper than any blade, and it took but a moment for the soldier to scramble away toward the field, leaving his sword behind. The Commander took that moment to address the remaining crowd, as Arya straightened herself and anxiously grasped the wrist of her marked hand.

“We are all part of the Inquisition,” Cullen continued.

“And what does that mean, exactly?” Chancellor Roderick, snivelling coward that he was, took that moment to announce himself from the crowd. Arya gripped her wrist harder, nails digging into the skin, to keep herself from cursing at the man. All she had wanted was a bloody moment of peace.

The Commander wore a wicked scowl. “Back again, are we, Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?”

“Apparently not, if he’s still here,” Arya grumbled.  _ Maker _ , someone just let her freeze the man. Just once, not even a full Winter’s Grasp, just  _ anything _ to shut him up.

Her prayers fell on deaf ears as the Chancellor continued. “I’m curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its Herald plan to restore order as you’ve promised.”

She couldn’t say anything out of turn. There was still a crowd, at least some of whom clearly disliked mages. Arya hoped that Commander Rutherford would continue to back her up for the time being. It was the least he could do.

“Of course you are,” the Commander said, briefly scanning the crowd. “Back to your duties, all of you!”

The man was good for giving orders, at least. The last remaining people quickly dispersed, leaving the Commander, the Chancellor, and the Herald to speak a bit more candidly.

“Mages and templars are already at war, now they blame each other for the Divine’s death.”

Chancellor Roderick’s face was beet red. “Which is  _ why _ we require a proper authority to guide them back to order!”

Proper authority? The Chantry couldn’t keep things in order in the first place. They led an untenable system with a shaky hand, and had the gall to act surprised when the Circles fell apart. Arya couldn’t understand how the Chantry didn’t see all of this coming. But if most of the clerics had their heads up their own bloody asses like Roderick, it truly shouldn’t have surprised her.

Cullen appeared to stop himself from outright laughing in the Chancellor’s face. Arya had to admit, it was amusing to see the Commander riled up, his attention not on her. “Who, you? Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the Conclave?”

Roderick decided then, rather foolishly, to turn his focus away from the Commander, walking towards Arya. “The rebel Inquisition and its so-called Herald of Andraste? I think not.”

The winter afternoon air turned a bitter cold. Luckily, the Chancellor was only just taller than Arya, so she was able to fix her gaze at him without looking up. “You’ll have to enlighten me, Chancellor, on what it is you’ve done to aid things here. Because from what I’ve seen, the Inquisition has been working while the Chantry twiddles its bloody thumbs, whining about the unfairness of it all.”

Roderick sniffed, lip curling in distaste. “Centuries of tradition will guide us. We are not the upstart, eager to turn over everything.”

_ Andraste’s tits _ , let the Inquisition turn things over, if it stood a chance of making things better. Arya started to reply to the Chancellor, but unable to think of anything outside of a string of curses, turned her attention to the Commander. With the attention off of him, he seemed to have calmed down. “Why, Rutherford, is this man still here?”

Roderick scoffed. “Clearly your Templar knows where to draw the line.”

Cold fury tore through Arya. The absolute audacity of this little cretin, regarding her as if she were a misbehaving child for simply existing.  _ Her _ Templar? Rutherford didn’t control her, whether or not he led the Inquisition’s bloody forces. This was not a Circle. She could ruin either of them if she wanted to.

She took a forceful step toward the Chancellor, fists curled, ice crackling beneath her feet. He was a little man. He’d probably never fought anyone a day in his life. “Say that again, Chancellor. I’m begging you.”

“Herald.” A voice of warning, from the Commander, carrying the expectation that Arya would fall in line. Her gaze whipped back to him, fury still alight in her eyes. He’d stepped towards her, no weapon drawn, but clearly poised to stop her if necessary. Ever the templar.

The Commander didn’t seem to return her anger, but he was stern, in control. “He’s toothless. There’s no point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs his mouth.”

Arya contemplated knocking both of them on their asses for a moment, but thought better of it. She stepped back, forcing herself to take a few deep breaths. “Fine.”  _ Just let this be done, already. _ If she was made to speak to Roderick any longer, even a Templar would be unable to stop her from throttling him.

The air returned to normal. Satisfied, Cullen relaxed slightly and gave her space, crossing his arms. “The Chancellor’s a good indicator of what to expect at Val Royeaux, however.”

“Your organization flouting the Chantry’s authority will not help matters. If you are innocent, the Chantry will establish it as so.”

Cullen was unimpressed. “Or they’ll be happy to use someone as a scapegoat.”

“You think nobody cares about the truth? We all grieve Justinia’s loss.” Chancellor Roderick eyed Arya expectantly, waiting for her to respond, perhaps affirm him. She remained silent, her expression deadpan. She would offer him no satisfaction.

“Well, you won’t grieve if the Herald of Andraste is conveniently swept under a carpet.”

At Cullen’s remark, the Chancellor wordlessly turned on his heel and strode away, seemingly having had his fill of dealing with the upstart Inquisition.

Arya deflated. How in the world was she going to handle Val Royeaux without things going up in flames? It was too late to figure out any other options. She jerked her hood over her head, wishing she could disappear in it. Maker above, she would have no more moments of being the Herald of Andraste today.

Now that the two were alone, Cullen seemed unsure of what to do with himself. “I’m...sorry you had to deal with all that, Herald. For the most part we’ve been able to avoid large amounts of infighting, but tensions between mages and templars will take time to snuff out.” Cullen looked off to the side, mulling over his next words.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize, or try to talk this out with me, or anything. Just…” Arya sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “...just do your job? I’m truly ‘talked out’ right now, and you have just  _ barely _ managed to become tolerable. I came out here to find a quiet spot in the Chantry, now I can actually get in, and I’d rather be left alone.”

She started through the Chantry doors before he could respond, leaving the Commander dumbfounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Chancellor Roderick eventually makes himself useful, but like...I hate this man so much.
> 
> Also, if you are in the US right now (especially in the South), please stay safe and warm.


	8. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya tries to find some peace in her downtime at Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: references to physical assault

If anyone had planned on bothering Arya once she entered the Chantry, they were promptly dissuaded by how quickly she stormed through the corridors. There were, on occasion, social benefits to being a mage. Particularly if you wanted people to start walking in the other direction.

The Inquisition was a strange thing, indeed. So many people brought together by the Divine’s death, and so many of them truly divided on what there was to be done about it. Even its inner circle had serious disagreements about  _ how _ to go about addressing the Breach. Arya didn’t enjoy considering the politics of it all, but without support, she wondered just how long their endeavor might last. There were no others, at least that she knew of, working to fix the rifts. A fledgling organization as it was, the Inquisition was necessary. Without it...she shuddered to think how quickly Thedas might fall while the rest of the continent squabbled.

Arya stared plaintively as she kneeled before the statue of Andraste. The woman in the stone offered no answers, or explanations, or even hope. She just stood, ever-watching.

“You might consider choosing a better Herald next time, my Lady. Although I doubt you chose me at all,” Arya whispered. “I’m not particularly faithful, or wise, or any of that. But if you are involved in this...any help would be appreciated. Guidance. I can’t ruin this.”

Silence hung thick in the air. Soft, golden-tinged light streamed through the windows. 

Arya hadn’t gotten any answers, but she’d gotten a moment of peace, at least. Stillness.

Now all she needed was a distraction.

* * *

It had been so long since Arya had gotten the chance to ride, and the horses in the stables that they had set up for Dennet were delightful, every last one. As she walked around the stalls, half in a daze, she found herself returning to an Orlesian courser, coat a light grey blending into a soft, snowy white at its back.

“She’s shy, but warms to the right person,” Dennet told her gruffly. Arya spent several minutes outside her stable, waiting, patient, to see if the courser might be partial to her. The waiting wasn’t a problem. Part of her worried that she’d forgotten how to ride correctly, and that the courser would startle the moment she placed a saddle on her. For a Trevelyan, it had taken her much time to get confident at riding. The first time she’d been introduced to the horses in their stables, her older brothers Eric and Malik rode circles around her while she hid in her mothers’ skirts. She’d become quite good, eventually, but by that point her magic had manifested. There were no horses at Ostwick Circle. Not ones that she was allowed to ride, at least.

When the courser finally took to her, Arya laughed, giddy, as she gently pet her muzzle. She was shockingly affectionate, nickering at her as soon as she tried to pull away. They rode well together, the courser taking Arya’s missteps in stride. Arya wondered if perhaps anyone found it strange that the Herald of Andraste was whooping like a madman, riding a horse up and down Haven for no particular reason. She needed that joy, though, and held onto it for dear life. When Arya closed her eyes, she could almost imagine Ostwick’s salty sea breeze on the wind, her brothers shouting for her to catch up to them. She felt the warmth of the sun dancing on her skin.

Arya brought the courser back to the stables after nearly an hour, passing by Dennet, who only seemed slightly surprised that she’d been gone so long. “Master Dennet, I’m calling her Bluebell, unless she already has a name,” she called. “Unless anyone else absolutely needs her, I’d love for her to be my primary mount when I have to leave.”

Dennet nodded, and asked if she wanted to get acquainted with any of the other horses. Arya did, and after seeing several beautiful mounts, a towering, rugged stallion caught her eye. Its coloring was an odd, jagged black-and-white.

_ Sweet Andraste _ , this was one of the Frostback Mountain horses that some of the soldiers had brought in. He seemed friendly enough, and Dennet was otherwise preoccupied with some others who had entered the stables. He trusted that she wouldn’t go riding off into the sunset.

_ I won’t, _ Arya thought.  _ Just take him out for a quick trot just outside, then I’ll be done. _ Her good fortune with Bluebell left her feeling confident. The Trevelyans rode through the hills of Ostwick proudly. She was still a Trevelyan, somewhere deep inside.

True to its name, the mountain stallion was sturdy. Arya was fairly tall, but she had to give herself a bit of an extra boost to get up to the saddle. But he accepted her presence, albeit tentatively. She continued in a cautious beat with the stallion. She liked him, but he was no Bluebell, who seemed to sense her worry and ease it. The slightest tense of a muscle made the stallion huff in a warning, that if she kept it up, he’d take control. With some coaxing, they got into a rhythm, and she started to walk him out of the stable.

From there, things went wrong. Arya had planned to give Dennet a warning in advance that she was about to take out another horse, but she slowed when she realized he was in deep conversation with Commander Rutherford and some of the Inquisition’s soldiers. She’d hoped that after their spat with the Chancellor outside the Chantry, that she might escape him for the rest of the day. 

_ I’m an idiot, _ she thought angrily.  _ Of course he’d be here-he insisted on getting Dennet and his horses to Haven in the first place. _

The Commander hadn’t noticed her yet, still caught up in the logistics of assigning horses to some of his higher-ranking troops. There was room for her to just...trot out of the stables without bumping anyone, though it’d be rude to just walk off with one of Dennet’s horses right in front of him. Maybe she could just give him a quick hello-

Dennet caught her before she could think of more ways to avoid conversation. “You sure about that horse, Herald? We’re still having a bit of trouble with him.” His eyebrows were furrowed. The others in the stable, the Commander included, had all turned to stare at her. A couple of the soldiers whispered to themselves. The Commander looked up at her, a single eyebrow cocked. The stallion began to shift, impatient, a snort escaping its mouth.

Arya gripped the reins tighter, and tried to move her horse forward. “I’m alright, Dennet, just want to take him out for a moment, if you don’t mind.”  _ Maker _ , too many people were scrutinizing her. Their eyes burned into her skin.

The stallion jerked under her, snorting again. He didn’t seem to appreciate the newfound attention either, and he’d lost patience.  _ Maker’s breath _ , she should have just walked him out without hesitation. This could have gone so much easier.

Arya loosened her grip on the reins, hoping to calm him, take him back to his stall. She could get acquainted with him later, without a bloody audience. 

“Easy now... _ fuck _ !” The stallion turned and bucked, throwing her off the saddle. 

Panic left Arya unable to think, unable to right herself as she fell. Strong, gloved hands grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her close. Too close. The Commander had grabbed her to break her fall, as Dennet and the soldiers rushed to calm the stallion down. 

Cullen stared at her, amber eyes bright, intense. He was so close, too close, his hands a vice grip on her.

Too much like the other templar’s hands, who refused to let her go. Too much like the other templar’s eyes when he’d caught her out past curfew. Shocked. Alight. Needing to control, to control her. He’d shoved her into a bookcase, ripped her magic from her before she could protest. Thrust a hand over her mouth before she could call for help. Arya could feel her heart pounding in her chest.  _ Not again, not again, not again, not again. _ That templar wanted her to hurt, to bleed. His hands dug into her, burning her skin.

The Commander was speaking to her. His lips were moving, but she didn’t hear it. Bitter cold frost engulfed Arya’s arms as she wrenched herself away from him, falling back into the dirt. She felt dizzy.

“Herald? What are you-” Cullen stepped back from her, rubbing his hands together as he examined the frost that had snaked up his gloves.

“Don’t  _ fucking _ touch me!” Arya yelled, voice more strained than intimidating. She needed to go, anywhere but here.

She got up, chest heaving, and bolted from the stables, not stopping until she was safe in her room, the door locked behind her.


	9. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen Rutherford tries to understand the Herald of Andraste.

Cullen Rutherford could not, for the life of him, wrap his head around the Herald of Andraste. He’d met other would-be heroes, more than he’d expected to in his lifetime. But Arya Trevelyan was nothing like Warden Amell, or even Hawke, despite how prickly they both were. Hawke seemed to take joy out of being an ass, but Arya? She just...had an incredibly short fuse. She closed herself off almost as soon as you met her.

The Herald was clearly still uncomfortable with most of the members of the Inquisition. She certainly received attention, mostly in hushed whispers and furtive looks, the occasional deferential nod, but she shied away from it, as though if too many people noticed her she might burst into flames. Given that the Herald did, in fact, have a glowing green hand and would close gaping rifts in the sky, Cullen supposed that it didn’t seem too outside the realm of possibility. 

From what Cullen had seen, Varric often sought the Herald out in conversation or to play cards, though that was fairly standard for the dwarf. Maker knew Varric had all but refused to leave him alone once he’d agreed to leave Kirkwall and join the Inquisition. Solas seemed to initially relish having another quiet and somewhat levelheaded companion, but he and Arya hardly seemed friends. She still would scan the room for escape routes whenever she entered a room with the other Inquisition advisers, only relaxing once Josephine spoke. Of all the people for Arya Trevelyan to make friends with, he hadn’t expected it to be the ambassador. When they weren’t in meetings, Cullen began to notice more how the Herald followed Josephine like a shadow. She was still quiet with her, but relaxed. He swore he’d heard Arya and Josephine giggling in the halls, even. 

Cullen wondered what it was like to be liked by the Herald. She certainly held little more than vitriol for him. During meetings, Arya avoided speaking directly to him, and stared daggers in his direction. It didn’t come as a shock. Few mages regarded him positively. But he would be lying if he said it didn’t sting.

He decided to ask Josephine about their friendship, trying to figure out what exactly the ambassador had done to gain the Herald’s trust in so little time. Although he wasn’t sure why. Did he need the Herald to trust him, exactly? If she was amenable to orders, that should have been enough. It wasn’t as though he was desperate for friendship. He had enough on his mind. But his encounter with her at the stables had sent his mind reeling. He’d hoped for a moment, after defending her outside the Chantry, that it might have given her a bit more faith in him. He’d graduated from the ‘fucking templar’ to ‘barely tolerable’, which was a start. But all progress he’d made that day was lost mere hours later. Cullen  _ knew _ , as a mage, she wouldn’t trust him. Would despise him. But Arya was incredibly powerful, incredibly revered, and was far safer inside Haven than elsewhere.

Despite that, the look she’d given him once he caught her fall wasn’t one of anger, or hatred. It was abject terror. 

Cullen hadn’t meant to startle her, encounter her at all, really. Once the horse flung her from its back he’d just wanted to help. What had she thought he was going to do?

He could handle the Herald of Andraste hating him, but scared to be near him? That was another issue entirely.

Perhaps Josephine would have insight that proved useful.

Josephine practically laughed him out of the room. “You’re asking how to get the Herald to  _ like  _ you? I-I’m sorry, Commander. I meant no offense. To be honest, I didn’t really think you...cared, I suppose?”

Cullen stiffened, finding a strap in his armor to readjust. “I merely am trying to figure out how to not colossally ruin our working relationship with the one person that can deal with the rifts.”

“I hardly think you could ruin that, Commander,” Josephine replied, returning to her clipboard.

Cullen laughed wryly. “You have been in the room for meetings, yes? I do worry the Herald may try to stab me in my sleep.”

Josephine tutted. “She remains dedicated to offering her aid. And she’s really rather gentle once you get past a few....layers.”

Layers? Battlement walls seemed a more appropriate term. “And how does one  _ peel back _ those layers, as it were?”

Josephine hastily finished writing down some notes, placing her clipboard down. “In all honesty, Cullen, trying to understand her position helps. She only just was named the Herald of Andraste, after losing her memory of an event where she was the only survivor. She was a prisoner, she knows almost no one here, and is rather afraid that if she makes a mistake, she will be in that situation again.”

“I’m well aware of the events that brought her here. But it’s more than that when it comes to me.” Cullen frowned. “You two speak often. Did she mention what happened the other day, in the stables? It was different.” 

Josephine sighed, agitatedly running a hand through her hair. “Yes, that. Her time in Ostwick Circle was...difficult. She-”

“What happened?” Cullen’s voice was quieter now, more concerned. He expected that, as a mage, she would have understandable misgivings about the Circles, but he wasn’t aware of anything occurring in Ostwick outside of the obvious war. 

Josephine shook her head. “I....I’m sorry, Commander. She mentioned things in confidence. It is not my place to say. The only advice I can offer is to not be overly harsh, and give her time.”

Cullen gave a solemn nod. He was in no position to argue issues of privacy, especially when it came to the Order. He certainly had things that he’d rather kept secret. “Thank you, Josephine. I...I’ll take my leave.”

* * *

Arya nearly Fade-stepped into a wall when she saw Commander Rutherford exiting Josephine’s office. She was under the impression that the Commander didn’t visit Josie often, making her office all the more safe of a place to seek refuge. As it stood, she managed to scramble into another hallway, evading his calculating gaze. The templar would not get yet another chance to scrutinize her for weaknesses, reasons to be neutralized. The other day, she’d ran away before he could do anything to her, but she doubted that using magic on him would go unpunished.

She pulled her hood up on instinct as she pushed Josie’s door open a crack. She’d mentioned paying her a visit earlier that day, and hoped that she wasn’t causing too much of an intrusion.

“Ah, Herald. This is the third time this week-do you ever plan on leaving me to solitude in the evenings?” Josephine chuckled, beckoning to the seat across her desk.

“I can certainly leave if I’m bothering you, Lady Montilyet. Also, if I’m being honest...I’m still getting used to my new title. Arya is fine when we’re...not surrounded by others in the Inquisition.” Arya collapsed into the chair, curls splaying out from her hood haphazardly. “How do you manage to just...go on speaking to people all day?”

Josie passed Arya a glass of wine. “I grew up learning how to negotiate, who to entreat and when. It comes quite naturally, after all this time. Plus…” she smiled conspiratorially, “you find out plenty of gossip”.

At that, Arya grinned and took a gulp of wine. “Gossip, Josephine? I would never have thought. Any that might help me navigate the mess I’ve gotten myself into?”

“Hmmm. Well, as you know the Chantry is rather scandalized by you at the moment, but I think the contacts that Mother Giselle gave us are promising. Val Royeaux may not go as badly as we fear. Make yourself more known outside of Haven, and you could easily capture the curiosity of many in Ferelden and Orlais.”

The Herald groaned. “That’s all well and good, but I was thinking more in my...immediate area, Josie.”

Josephine made a low hum of agreement. “Well, despite your general demeanor, people  _ do  _ like you here. I’ve certainly heard some of our forces comment on how you’re rather...intimidating, but quite easy on the eyes.” Arya tried not to spit out the wine she just drank. “Leliana and Cassandra think you show considerable promise. And Varric is desperate to have some fun with you yet.”

Arya laughed heartily at first, but her face fell as she recognized that Josephine had quite conveniently left out the Commander in her praise. Shouldn’t surprise her that much that he had little positive to say about her. Or Josephine was trying to spare her feelings surrounding something he said. “ I take it that Commander Rutherford would rather I wasn’t here, then.”

“That isn’t what I said, Arya.”

“You’ve not mentioned him at all, which is surprising, since he just left your office not even 10 minutes ago. He’s a templar, so I’m sure he has issues with how I just walk around unchecked-”

Josephine sighed. “ _ Former _ templar. And in all honesty, I do not think that he is concerned about the abilities you possess. Concerns about how we will all get along in the coming months, perhaps. He does not enjoy how regularly he manages to upset you. But it seems he would prefer you here than not.”

“I wouldn’t call that a glowing recommendation, but I’ll take it, I suppose. And if he wants to upset me less, he could consider acting less like a templar.”

“It  _ is _ what he’s spent most of his life acting like, Arya. Don’t take it too personally. Cullen is...rather serious with everyone, not just on the subject of the Herald. Not unlike you, I might add.”

“Shut up, Josie.” The Herald playfully pretended to smack her on the arm.

Josephine rolled her eyes, and continued back to her wine. The two spoke of pleasant nothings for a while, comparing the warm, beachy climate in Antiva to the colder, angrier seas on the Free Marches’ coast. Eventually, a dip in conversation led Josephine back to the subject of the Commander.

“Have you  _ tried _ talking to him after nearly freezing his hands off?”

“Trust me, his hands would have been fine. It wasn’t my best use of magic. Mostly ended up freezing my own arms. And no, I haven’t.”

“Why not? Actually airing out your concerns about him couldn’t hurt.”

Arya winced at the thought. “Ah, right. ‘Sorry Commander, I can’t stand to be around you because I can’t stand templars on the whole. Perhaps if you just never came near me again, we’d be  _ perfectly fine. _ ’ I think that would create more problems than anything.”

“Well, if you put it like that, yes.” Josephine shot her a pointed look, which Arya returned with a sheepish grin.

“Sorry, Josie. If only we could all be as good with people as you.” A quick glance at the window told Arya that it was far later than she’d meant to keep Josephine, and she got up from her chair, offering the ambassador a half-smile.

“I leave for Val Royeaux tomorrow, anyhow. The distance will be good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy it's a Cullen chapter! Kind of. They'll pop up from time to time.
> 
> Been playing through Origins-good god, they just had him aging BACKWARDS throughout this whole series, huh? I don't even think you can blame his entire mess of a look on the animation of Origins in general, because Alistair looks fine.


	10. X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Val Royeaux.

Val Royeaux, if nothing else, was beautiful. Unlike most of the places Arya had visited, Orlais’ capital city was right out of a child’s storybook, with pastel buildings, ornate embellishments, and gilded statues abundant. The florists in Val Royeaux had to be extremely well paid—stone vases filled with vibrant flowers inhabited every corner.

Maker’s breath, how did they manage to keep the place so clean? Even the streets seemed to have a bright gleam about them. It was almost disturbing. Orlesian nobility was truly a breed of its own. 

The arrival of the Herald of Andraste, along with her companions, was noticed before they’d even made it through the city’s gargantuan wrought-iron gates to meet with their scout. Nearly every time they walked past an Orlesian, they would gasp, almost theatrically, and hurry on their way. Apparently, the inhabitants of Val Royeaux had no interest in clandestine disgust. If any unwelcome parties entered the city’s hallowed grounds, they would know  _ precisely _ how the Royans felt about them.

After the fifth time a noblewoman’s eyes widened at the sight of Arya’s staff, Arya turned to Solas, sighing.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in ruffling some Orlesian feathers further, by any chance?”

Solas gave the tiniest hint of a smirk. “An elven apostate causing further unrest in the Chantry’s stronghold? I cannot imagine that being an issue given our objective here.”

“It’s a delight to have you, Chuckles,” Varric said.

“Do I ever get a nickname, Varric?”

“You might. I’ll need the right inspiration to strike me.”

Before Arya had the chance to worry about just what that inspiration might end up being, the group was met by a scout. She wasted little time in informing them of the awaiting Chantry mothers...and, apparently, a small squadron of templars accompanying them in the Summer Bazaar. 

* * *

A crowd of masked Orlesians had gathered in the bazaar, waiting to hear what the Revered Mother had to say. True to the scout’s information, she was flanked by a number of templars, standing vigilant.

Revered Mother Hevara wasted no time in deriding Arya and the Inquisition.

“We mourn the Divine,” she proclaimed, “her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery. You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more. Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste, claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet. The Maker would send no mage in our hour of need!”

It was too bad that Arya couldn’t get to start with one of the more sympathetic Mothers that Giselle had mentioned. The Orlesians already disliked her plenty. The crowd would not be on their side.

She did her best to project confidence and self-assurance in front of Mother Hevara. “I am here not as your enemy, but as a messenger. The Breach is a far greater danger than any one individual could pose. We must unite to stop it.”

“It’s true,” Cassandra added, looking gravely from Mother Hevara to the rest of the crowd. “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late.”   
  


“It is already too late.” The Mother gestured to another group of templars approaching the platform, headed by a severe, snide-looking man with grey hair.

“The templars have returned to the Chantry. They will face this Inquisition and the people will be safe once more.” Mother Hevara stepped back as the lead templar strode past her, waiting for him to take action.

She didn’t see the templar who abruptly struck her in the back of the head. The crowd watched, horrified, as the Revered Mother crumpled to the ground with a gasp. The clergy members flanking her cowered in fear.

So much for the templars protecting the Chantry, then. Arya shot a careful glance at Cassandra, whose eyes were wide. Neither of them seemed sure of the best course of action. The group had arrived in Val Royeaux to talk, not to deal with Templars knocking out a member of the clergy.

Clearly, not all of the templars had been briefed on the attack, as the grey-haired templar placed a hand on one of the other templar’s arms, stopping him from checking on Mother Hevara. 

“Still yourself,” said the grey-haired templar. “She is beneath us.” None of the others protested his orders.

Arya stepped toward the platform, glaring. The worst Mother Hevara could have done was call for her arrest. A group of rogue templars was a far greater danger. “Bold move, assaulting a Revered Mother in broad daylight. Care to explain yourself?”

Much to her annoyance, the grey-haired templar paid her little mind. “It wasn’t for you at all,” he sneered, turning his attention to the rest of his soldiers.

Cassandra rushed to intercept him, confusion and concern evident in her face. “Lord Seeker Lucius, it’s imperative that we speak with you.” Arya hadn’t realized that Cassandra knew him. Hopefully this wasn’t standard behavior for the man.

“You will not address me.” Seeker Lucius walked past Cassandra, barely even turning his head to acknowledge her presence.

“Lord Seeker?” asked Cassandra, incredulous.

“Creating a heretical movement. Raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed. The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages.” He pointed at Cassandra, indignant. “You are the ones who have failed. You who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear. If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.”

_ Maker’s breath. And they truly thought we might find allies in these people? It’d be more likely for a horse to sprout wings. _ Arya was quickly tiring of being expected to reason with people who only wanted her and anyone like her dead. “So much for protecting the people, then. Have you all fallen so far that you won’t abandon a bankrupt cause as it stares you in the face?”

“You’re a mage,” Lucius growled. “Your ties are worthless. Your people are all made traitors just by being in your company.”

The hesitant templar from before stepped to Lucius’ side, daring to question him. “But Lord Seeker, what if she really was sent by the Maker? What if-”

He was cut off by the man who’d punched Mother Hevara. “You are called to a higher purpose. Do not question.”

“I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the void,” Lucius continued, to the eventual salutes of his men. “We deserve recognition, independence. You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition? Less than nothing. Templars, Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march.”

As the newly-rogue templars marched out of the Summer Bazaar, Solas and Varric rejoined the group. “Charming fellow, isn’t he?” remarked Varric, shaking his head.

Cassandra stared at the retreating templars in disbelief, searching for better answers. “Has the Lord Seeker gone mad?”

“I take it the Lord Seeker you knew wasn’t like this, Cassandra? Though I can’t say I’m shocked. The Order’s always clung to that sense of divine superiority.”

“He took over the Seekers of Truth two years ago, after Lord Seeker Lambert’s death. He was always a decent man, never given to ambition or grandstanding. This is  _ very _ bizarre.”

“It may be bizarre, but the man who says ‘purge the mages’ speaks for the Order now. He’s made that abundantly clear.”

“If he cannot be reasoned with, there must be others within the Order. Surely not all of them hold on to his beliefs. Either way, we must return to Haven and inform the others.”

  
Arya didn’t find Cassandra’s hopes reassuring. Even if there were templars who disagreed with the Lord Seeker, that entire interaction had made it clear that they lacked the willpower to directly oppose him. The templar that had come closest to questioning Lucius’ actions had fallen in line all the same. That was what the templars  _ did _ . They might disagree among themselves, but they fell in line for their duty. It didn’t matter if what happened around them was wrong, or if they were uncertain in their path. Banking on the hope that some templars could be more than bystanders was dangerous. Hopefully, Arya would be able to convince the rest of the advisers of that when they returned to Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orlais doesn't deserve how pretty Val Royeaux is, that's all I gotta say.


	11. XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making new friends in Val Royeaux.

The Inquisition’s business in Val Royeaux had not finished after their botched attempt to make amends with the Chantry. Apparently, some group called the Friends of Red Jenny was interested in her. From the note Arya had picked up, the Red Jennies seemed a fairly...casual operation. Honestly, who would fire an arrow into a square filled with people?

The Red Jennies also, apparently, had a penchant for messing around, as they sent Arya on a bloody scavenger hunt throughout the Bazaar. Bumping into tables at the cafe in front of several pompous Orlesians just to find a handkerchief was far too embarrassing.

Cassandra was thoroughly unimpressed by her running around the Bazaar like a chicken with its head cut off. “Is this really worth our time? We have other potential allies that would not send you on...fetch quests.”

Arya grunted. “I have plenty of time on my hands before the Duke’s salon. And I’d hate to have made a fool of myself for no reason.”

By nightfall, Arya and the others had found their way to the courtyard the Red Jennies had pointed out in their clues. A rather paltry group of mercenaries intercepted them, and they were quickly dispatched. As they headed through a door in the courtyard, they faced yet another unfortunately dressed Orlesian. It was almost impressive how the Orlesians were prepared for a dance or an assassination all with one garish outfit.

Despite the fact that his lackeys were now unconscious in the hallway in front of him, the man was remarkably convinced he’d dealt a crippling blow to the Inquisition’s forces. So few people had that kind of confidence and deserved it, sadly.

“I have no idea who you are, nor do I particularly care,” Arya told him, staff at the ready.

“You don’t fool me,” the man replied, hands on his hips. “I’m too important for this to be an accident. My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere-”

A blonde elf with a ghastly haircut appeared at the bottom of the stairs behind him, bow drawn. “Just say  _ what. _ ”

“What is the- _ hurgh _ !” The would be-assasin fell to the ground, an arrow firmly lodged just below his jaw.

The elf groaned and walked over to Arya. “Squishy one, but you heard me, right? Just say ‘what’. Rich tits always try for more than they deserve. Blah, blah, blah!” 

She unceremoniously removed her arrow from the man’s neck with a smirk. “Obey me. Arrow in my face. So, you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you’re…” Arya raised an eyebrow as the elf looked at her with confusion. “You’re kind of plain, really. All that talk and then you’re just...a person. I mean it’s all good, innit? The important thing is, you glow. You’re the Herald thingie.”

There was little else that Arya could think of to describe her other than...chaotic. “Just a person? Did you expect me to have sprouted wings?”

She’d earned a hearty chuckle from the elf. “You’re funny. Funny is good.”

“I appreciate the warning about these people, but what’s going on here, exactly?”

“No idea. I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.”

“The...friends of Red Jenny, then?”

“Yeah. Name’s Sera. This is cover. Get ‘round it. For the reinforcements. Don’t worry, someone tipped me their equipment shed.” Sera smiled wickedly. “They’ve got no breeches.”

Arya was disappointed to find that Sera wasn’t being facetious, and that the attacking mercenaries quite literally were without pants. While it made the men easier to fight, given their...distraction, fighting a bunch of men half in their smallclothes was hardly on Arya’s list of priorities. She would  _ not  _ be thanking Sera for providing her that experience.

She would, however, thank Sera for her help and talents with a bow. Regardless of how crass and unpredictable Sera was, her skill was undeniable, and the Red Jennies were connected enough to find the mercenaries in the first place. According to Sera, there were members scattered across Thedas, all very interested in getting back at nobles and other important folk doing ill. Josephine might not appreciate having the aid of a group whose sole purpose was to be in near-constant opposition to the nobility, but surely they could get past it. Having connections to more...normal people could get the Inquisition intelligence that they wouldn’t otherwise have.

And, unlike almost every person she’d met so far, Sera was eager to join. Even if some of her interest seemed to be in selling the breeches she’d just stolen.

* * *

The next day, Arya found herself tentatively walking the parlour of the Ghislain estate. She hadn’t dealt with so many nobles since she was a child in her parent’s halls. As the youngest of her siblings, she was mostly left alone when important people came to visit. It was far more interesting for a visiting marquis to speak with Bann Trevelyan’s teenaged sons rather than the daughter who had just begun reading chapter books. Arya’s mother ensured that she knew the proper curtsies and greetings, and was able to give a polite but brief summary of her studies, but other than that? 

_ Darling, young ladies are best seen and not heard. Best to watch those around you and learn from them. Silence is not an excuse for being distracted. _

She hoped that knowledge could see her through the evening at the Duke’s chateau. Orlesian nobility was a bit different but...nobles were still nobles, right? Surely they would appreciate a bit of a stiff upper lip. Arya had never had a knack for her mother’s pleasant way of picking up information from visitors, but even years locked away at the Circle didn’t leave her entirely incompetent. In that, she could be like her father. Stoic, calculating, detached. Never letting others know what the real plan was.

If only she found it all as easy as her father had. Putting on airs was always exhausting.

Unlike the Free Marchers, Orlesian nobles were a lot more obsessed with the sultry and romantic. Andraste’s tits, they were being entirely honest when they believed that she had stepped out of the Fade naked and resplendent, having been spiritually reborn by Andraste herself. Arya hardly found that to be an appealing image. But if it kept the Orlesians happy, fine. She didn’t have much information that she wanted to give them anyway, instead opting to politely ask about the whereabouts of the Duke or Madame Vivienne, neither of whom she had seen.

The Duke, apparently, had not been seen much at court, and neither of the two nobles she spoke with knew entirely why. Their best guess seemed to be that he was away from Val Royeaux at the behest of the Council of Heralds, or that he was trying to avoid association with his former son-in-law. Apparently, he’d been involved in some mess in the Dales. Regardless, for all intents and purposes it seemed that Vivienne had run of the place in his stead, and her interest in the Inquisition had been piqued.

“The Inquisition is a ripe subject for wild tales,” the noblewoman Arya spoke with commented.

A nobleman with red feathers erupting from his mask rushed down the stairs, apparently eager to join their conversation. “The Inquisition?” he scoffed. “What a load of pig shit. Washed up sisters and crazed Seekers. No one can take them seriously.” He walked confidently, cutting a path directly in between Arya and the nobles she’d been speaking to, then turning toward her. 

“Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.” He looked down at Arya, daring her to challenge him.

“The Inquisition isn’t interested in a mad grab for power. We’re working to restore peace in Thedas.”

“Here comes the outsider, restoring peace with an army.” The noble walked over to her until she was nearly face-to-face with him. Arya briefly noted the sword strapped to the man’s back. Far too many people with swords just  _ loved _ getting too close to her. At some point she’d have to devise a better defense from threats at close range.

“We know what your Inquisition truly is. If you were a woman of honor, you would step outside and answer the charges.” Arya stepped back as the man reached for his sword, and found himself promptly frozen in place, a frosty air encasing him. It wasn’t a full Winter’s Grasp, and she certainly hadn’t been the one to cast it.

A statuesque, mahogany-skinned woman descended from the top of the stairs. “My dear marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in  _ my _ house to  _ my  _ guests. You know such rudeness is intolerable.”

The woman was masked in a similar fashion to most of the Orlesians there, but it met with a headdress that curled into two thick, black horns. Her outfit was ostentatious, but in a way that Arya found tasteful rather than foolish-looking. The mage’s very presence demanded attention from everyone in the room, while it seemed that she barely acknowledged them. 

Arya couldn’t help her heart skipping a beat. Meeting beautiful, powerful mages with the standing to freeze a man in broad daylight was rare. It was a good thing, too, as Arya knew that defending herself with magic here of all places would surely be frowned upon.

“Madame Vivienne,” the marquis stammered out. “I humbly beg your pardon.” 

Sweet Maker, _and_ she could get the non-mages to grovel? 

“You should,” replied Vivienne, regarding the man with disdain. “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?”

Madame Vivienne turned her focus to Arya briefly. “My lady, you’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

As tempting as it might have been to see the marquis squirm further, Arya hoped to make a good first impression, and seeing Vivienne do anything worse to the man might well make her faint. She was  _ distractingly _ beautiful. “...I am sure that the man has since learned the error of his ways,” she settled on finally. “This seems like lesson enough.”

Vivienne grabbed the marquis by the chin. “By the grace of Andraste, you have your life, my dear.” She dispelled her magic with a snap, leaving the man gasping for breath. “Do be more careful with it.”

Once the salon attendees had turned their attention back to other gossip, Vivienne led Arya upstairs to a quieter part of the estate to properly introduce herself. She was young for an enchanter of such high standing, and she was clearly proud of it. 

“With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people.” Vivienne smiled coyly. “As the leader of the last  _ loyal  _ mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

At that, some of the First Enchanter’s luster started to fade away. Arya didn’t necessarily consider herself one of the rebel mages, especially since joining the Inquisition, but had things in the Conclave not ended in an explosion, she might have been. Their frustrations with the Circle and the Chantry were not unfounded.

“Loyal to the Chantry, I take it?” Arya asked carefully. Best not to turn Vivienne off from their cause completely. It was far safer to stay on her good side.

“Loyal to the people of Thedas. We have not forgotten the commandment, as some have, that ‘magic exists to serve man’. I support any effort to restore such order.”

“And you would see mages returned to the Circle?”

“Where else can mages safely learn to master their talents? We need an institution to protect and nurture magic. Maker knows magic will find neither on its own.”

Ugh. Arya would have to avoid talking politics with this one. “Well...I can certainly agree that mages need their talents fostered rather than blind persecution. Regardless, the Inquisition would welcome your support.”

“Great things are beginning, my dear. I can promise you that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah Viv, must you be the way that you are? I don't actually hate her, I think that having a mage character that has dedicated so much time and effort to making the system work for her is interesting, although I'm not sure if the game itself did the best at...expressing that. 
> 
> Onward we go! The fun thing about having so little to do right now is that my draft for this fic has managed to get to 50k words, and it's not even close to halfway done. Love having a hyperfixation.


	12. XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A personal invitation to Redcliffe provides the Inquisition with an opportunity.

Arya came out of Orlais feeling like her mission to Val Royeaux, despite the initial hiccups, was a resounding success. Sera, Vivienne, and some of the Circle mages were well on their way to Haven. She hoped that Josie, Leliana, and the Commander would be pleased with the additional support. And to add to their successes, she now had an in with the rebel mages.

Grand Enchanter Fiona  _ herself _ had met with her just before they left Val Royeaux. She’d never seen the elf in person, and she looked rather...normal. Almost motherly, even. Arya wasn’t sure why her mental image of the leader of the rebel mages was that of someone much more severe. Much to Arya’s delight, Fiona had suggested the option of an alliance between the Inquisition and the rebel mages. She would return to Haven with a personal invitation to Redcliffe.

With the templars so clearly a danger, Arya hoped that she would have little trouble convincing the advisers to seek an alliance with the mages. While the mages were a good tactical choice, in all honesty, Arya was getting tired of being one of the odd people out at Haven. At least in Ostwick, she had been surrounded by other mages. With the rebel mages at Haven, she wouldn’t be as surrounded by people who were for the most part afraid of magic. If the rebel mages could help seal the Breach, maybe those people wouldn’t be so terrified of them. Less inclined to see mages hidden away.

* * *

Cassandra and Arya entered the Chantry to find the advisers already prepared to meet them. 

Josephine got to them first. “It’s good you’ve returned. We heard about your encounter.”

“You heard?”

Leliana smiled. “My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course.”

The Commander, apparently, was far less enthused about their arrival, a sour expression on his face. “It’s a shame the templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital.”

Arya shrugged, crossing her arms. “Little surprise there, but now we have a better opportunity.”

“And we have the opening we need to approach the templars and the mages,” commented Josephine.

_ Wait, what? _ What had Leliana’s agents told them that offered any indication that the templars were a viable option? They continued toward the war room.

Cassandra, at least, shared in her confusion. “Do we? Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”

“True, he has taken the Order somewhere. But due to what?” Leliana’s expression clouded. “My reports have been...very odd.”

Leliana’s assessment hardly sounded like it was in the templars’ favor. Convincing them to support the mages might not be as difficult as Arya hoped.

“We must look into it. I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.”

...or not. That  _ fucking  _ templar.

Arya shot an imploring look at Josephine, who nodded apologetically. “The Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe instead.”

Maker bless that woman. Arya took the opportunity to speak. “I did, quite literally, get a personal invitation to Redcliffe. I think logic would dictate where we need to be going already.”

The Commander turned to look at Arya, clearly disapproving. “You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse.”

Arya scoffed. Of course he wasn’t pleased. Surely the last thing the man wanted was more mages, freshly annoyed with the Order and the Chantry, arriving at their doorstep. Too bad. Sending her to meet with a man whose interest was in  _ purging the mages _ was suicide, plain and simple. “What makes you think the Templars are even capable of aiding us in sealing the rifts?”

“They don't spend their entire time in the Order simply bashing swords together. They can affect magical energy, weaken the Breach. What makes  _ you _ think that the mages will want anything to do with the Inquisition?”

“What, because all mages are just a breath away from blood magic? Evil? We don’t know that suppressing the Breach’s magic will be enough. The mages would be able to help address the Breach, help me overpower its magic. I’m sure of it.”

Cullen glared at her from across the table, moving from careful disagreement to anger. Clearly she’d struck a nerve. “Their ability has nothing to do with this, the fact remains that we can’t trust that going to them won’t end in abject failure! Their presence, unchecked, could put our people in danger. With the templars-”

_ Our people _ . Normal people. People without magic. For all his claims that he wasn’t a part of the Order anymore, the Commander was a templar in all but name. His only interest in her was out of necessity. 

Arya was fucking tired of being needed as the Herald, but not actually wanted as herself, as a mage. “Have we all just conveniently forgotten that a templar  _ literally  _ knocked out a Chantry mother in broad daylight? And that all of the other little templars just sat there and twiddled their thumbs? The rebel mages obviously understand that  _ bloody _ rifts in the Fade are not a good sign for anyone, at least!”

Cullen’s hands went to rest on his sword. “Don’t act as if you carry any more love for the Chantry than they do,” he sneered. “The templars would not just stand idly by as the Breach continues. They may have split from the Order’s original intent, but they know wrong when they see it. Templars in our ranks would bolster our cause, strengthen our forces. Just  _ think _ , instead of barrelling in and making a split-second decision.”

“I  _ am _ thinking, Commander! You bring templars here, and any mage in the Inquisition is no longer safe.  _ They want to purge any mage they come across.  _ I don’t know how much clearer I can make that. Even if we can’t get the rebel mages on our side, we’ll have the opportunity to deal with potentially hostile forces far too close to us anyway.”

“That is what Lord Seeker Lucius wants, not the entire Order. Templars would offer protection, for mages and others alike. We need that. That many mages would be an unwise risk. Why can’t you-”

Arya slammed a fist on the table, sending map markers trembling. Josephine and Cassandra’s faces twisted in concern, but they had yet to intervene. “The  _ templars _ . Don’t. Offer. Protection.”

“In what world-”

“Look around! Are any of us here protected because of the Templars? Would we be here if they did? The Circles don’t offer protection, they offer fear. I had friends I never saw again because of one mistake.”

The Commander looked like he was about to say something, but paused, mouth set in a thin, hard line.

“I get the sense, Commander Rutherford,” Arya hissed, “that you became a Templar by choice. That that was a life you wanted. Good for you. I am sure it must be nice to choose your own destiny.  _ I didn’t get that luxury. _ Nor do any others who showcase magical ability. I was lucky that I didn’t hurt anyone when I discovered my magic,  _ on accident _ , or else I would likely be long dead. I was  _ fucking  _ ten.” Her voice broke a little, then. “Do you know how long it took for them to drag me away from my family, when they didn’t even want me anymore? My eldest brother is a templar. House Trevelyan’s pride and joy. I became nothing, a dark spot that needed to be rubbed out. Ostwick was supposed to be relaxed, but when I got there? The way they treated me? I…”

She gripped the ends of the war table. Her hands were shaking.  _ I won’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him. _ She willed herself to calm her emotions, replace her desperate frustration with detachment. She could still be upset with what happened to her, upset at the idea that she should go running into the lion’s den. But she would use that frustration to protect herself, distance herself, not to seem weak. 

Her voice was quiet, controlled. “I  _ will not _ go running straight to a bunch of vindictive knights unleashed from the Chantry, who want me and anyone like me dead, and beg them for their aid. If you are desperate for their help, you’re going to have to find someone else to get it.”

A deafening silence fell over the room, as Arya looked carefully at each of the advisers before settling on the Commander. She looked up at him, brows furrowed, defying him to challenge her. His amber eyes looked genuinely remorseful. He almost looked...vulnerable, for a moment, dwarfed by his armor. Guilty. Perhaps he finally realized what they were asking of her in going to the Order.

“Arya. I…” Cullen sighed. “I’m sorry. You would be the one to lead this effort. I’ll trust your decision.”

“Good. We go to Redcliffe.”

The Inquisition’s advisers nodded, though Cullen avoided looking at her, instead busying himself with readjusting the markers on the map. 

He was unsure of how to deal with her. Arya had no issue clarifying for him. “And you, Commander.” His head snapped up, his face still carrying that uncertain expression. “You don’t get to call me that. Your people have given me the title of the Herald of Andraste. _We_ _are not friends_. I am your Herald, you direct me when needed. That is the extent of my desire to fraternize with you.”

“Understood, Herald.” The Commander was silent after that, allowing Leliana and Josephine to address other tasks that needed addressing before going to Redcliffe. He only spoke when prompted.

The disappearance of the Grey Wardens needed investigating. Some mercenary company off the Storm Coast was interested in offering the Inquisition aid. They had only just returned to Haven, but Arya was already eager to be anywhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Getting a bit more into the 'enemies' part of this whole thing.
> 
> Allow me to write an aside about Cullen: I like his character (or else I would not be here writing this), but like...his opinions on mages suck, a lot of the time, even in Inquisition, and that has been the main thing that irked me in the game is that you don't get to challenge him on it nearly enough (and to be fair, this extends past Cullen when it comes to challenging anti-mage opinions). And IMO, unless the mage Inquisitor romancing him is decently pro-Circle/anti-magic, Cullen's gotta put in the work to earn that trust. And advocating for the mage to get the templars is...not doing that.
> 
> I like Cullen! I do! But I think there's some parts of the game that want you to take at face value that he is redeemed already, and I want to see him being challenged, becoming a more understanding person to mages as a whole, not just...the mages he knows personally.


	13. XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More journeying around Ferelden, more new allies to find.

_ Leliana, _

_ Please relay any information on my meeting with the Grey Warden Blackwall to the other advisers as necessary. I hope this report will prove useful. _

_ The Hinterlands remain filled with bears, giant spiders, and outlaws. I’ve heard tell of some dragonlings hidden somewhere, though we have yet to encounter any. If you send more scouts out this way, please have them advised of this. I’d hate to lose anyone unnecessarily. We dispatched several bandits, but there are surely more elsewhere. _

_ We found Warden Blackwall training a number of Ferelden farmhands by the lake. Seems they were tired of being ransacked by bandits. Blackwall is, as can be expected of a Grey Warden, quite talented with a sword and shield, and warmed up to us quickly after he realized that we weren’t with the attackers. _

_ Strangely enough, we were the first to inform Blackwall of the Wardens’ disappearance, but he didn’t seem particularly concerned, given the lack of a Blight. He was adamant that the Wardens had nothing to do with the Divine’s death, though.  _ ~~_ I’d like to believe him, but time will tell. _ ~~ _ He hasn’t spoken to another Warden in several months, too busy recruiting. His best guess was that the Wardens had returned to Weisshaupt. Do we have contacts in the Anderfels? It seems far. _

_ Blackwall mentioned that the Wardens are able to utilize treaties to conscript soldiers and get resources, which could be useful. I’ve recruited him into the Inquisition. I hope that his personal talents will be more of a help than his knowledge of the Wardens’ business. _

_ Sera, Cassandra, Solas and I are headed off to the Storm Coast to meet the Chargers. We will send word before we make our way back to Haven.  _

_ A. Trevelyan _

_ P.S. Apologies in advance, as this isn’t official business. Josie said that if I could think of anything I might want delivered to my quarters upon return to Haven, that I should request it as soon as possible.  _ ~~_ Please don’t judge me for this _ ~~ _~~.~~ I would greatly appreciate it if she could procure for me a few skeins of yarn and some knitting needles. Any color will do. _

* * *

“Sera, if you keep poking fun at Solas’ outfit, I’m going to bloody toss you into the Waking Sea.”

Maker’s balls, the teasing had gone on for hours now. It wasn’t that Solas seemed upset. Arguably the elf was bemused by Sera’s constant, failed attempts at needling him. That he hadn’t already attacked her was a testament to the fact that Solas had the patience of a Chantry sister.

However, that didn’t mean that Arya and Cassandra weren’t absolutely tired of the back-and-forth. Bringing Sera along for a trip to fight off Tevinters seemed obvious enough. She sure loved hitting things, with arrows, repeatedly, and killing enemy soldiers from Tevinter wasn’t a task that needed to be undertaken with much delicacy. However, Arya had underestimated just how grating Sera’s chattiness could be. The Storm Coast was hardly welcoming, even for Arya, who generally didn’t mind the water. But being soaked to the bone while listening to Sera crowing poorly-crafted insults was enough to make anyone start to slowly go mad.

Sera curled her nose and blew raspberries at Arya. “I’ll make fun of the elfy hobo as much as I want, thank you.” Solas gave the slightest roll of his eyes and sighed.

Arya nudged her horse forward with a groan. If they were going to keep this up all the way to the scout’s camp, at least she’d do her best to avoid hearing it.

* * *

Scout Harding seemed unfazed by the weather, and setting eyes on the dwarf managed to shut Sera up fairly quickly. Few were capable of resisting the charm of Harding’s freckled face.

“Scout Harding, the shining light of the Storm Coast,” Arya greeted her with a crooked smile. “How are things here? I’m sure you have news for us.”

Harding returned her shameless attempt at flirting with a polite and professional smile. “It’s good to see you, Your Worship.”

Generally, she wasn’t much of a fan of being treated like the Herald, but something about the way Harding said ‘Your Worship’ made Arya’s heart flutter. Honestly, there was no reason for so many people in the Inquisition to be so  _ bloody _ appealing.

While Arya was busy getting lost in Harding’s face, she continued with her report. “There’s a group of bandits operating in the area. They know the terrain, and our small party has had trouble going up against them. Some of our soldiers went to speak with their leader. Haven’t heard back though.”

“I’ll be sure to look into it.”

“Thank you, Your Worship. That’s a relief. The soldiers didn’t have an exact location for the bandits, but they were starting their search further down the beach. With all this fuss, we haven’t been able to conduct a proper search for the Grey Wardens, either.”

“Unfortunately, it seems like the Wardens are missing in action, but we have business down that way.”

Harding nodded. “Good luck, and enjoy the sea air. I hear it’s good for the soul.”

There wasn’t much time to enjoy the sea air when they first got to the beach, much to Arya’s dismay. The Iron Bull and his Chargers were in the middle of an all-out brawl with the Tevinters as soon as they arrived. They were a well-outfitted and well-organized band, swift to cross blades with their attackers and dispatch them. The Chargers didn’t really need the Inquisition’s assistance fighting off the zealots, but it was hardly good form to just sit around and let them do all the work. Plus, Sera would have a fit if she didn’t get the chance to have some fun.

While Cassandra leaped into the fray, Arya sent a blast of lightning arcing through the air toward the Tevinters, leaving them stunned. An arrow protruding out of one of their eye sockets told her that Sera had struck once again. The Chargers appreciated the assistance, and the remaining enemies soon turned into a bloody mess on the beach.

Even better, the Chargers had ale, and once perfunctory introductions were made, they were more than happy to share. The two groups quickly worked to pitch their tents along the coastline, and the Iron Bull instructed several of his men to open up the casks.

Arya had never actually met a Qunari before, and found the Iron Bull aptly named, what with his  _ fucking enormous  _ horns. He was a giant of a man, towering over everyone else there. Arya had never considered herself small, by any means, but she could easily use Iron Bull as cover in a fight. She briefly considered joking with him about it, but thought better of it. She didn’t want to come off as weak in front of a man she was supposed to be recruiting into the Inquisition. Iron Bull exuded competence and an ability to tear an enemy to pieces, and he had the unwavering loyalty of the Chargers. In comparison? Arya was the Herald of Andraste, but that didn’t actually mean that the majority of the Inquisition liked her. And while her mark gave her the ability to close rifts in the Fade, her magic was still...average, not to mention her abysmal skill in close-combat fighting. Sweet Andraste, would that she could be a bit more like him.

The rain, luckily, had slowed to an almost-ignorable drizzle. Arya left Cassandra, Sera, and Solas to make small talk with the rest of the Chargers while she talked shop with Iron Bull.

“You all make an impressive team. I was told you were looking for work.”

“I am. Not before my drink, though.” Bull jerked his head toward a rock outcropping, motioning for them to sit. He introduced Arya to Cremisius Aclassi, otherwise known as Krem, who apparently was Tevinter, but didn’t seem to mind that they’d just killed several of his countrymen. 

Krem was...very handsome, and his accent made Arya want to find any excuse to keep him talking. But sadly, she had other matters to attend to. Perhaps she’d find reason to chat with him later.

“Krem’s a good man, for a Vint. And you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it. And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

“The money isn’t my department, but I’m sure our leaders wouldn’t have sent me out if you weren’t worth the expense.”

“They’ll figure something out. And you’re not just getting the boys, you’re getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard. I’m your man. Whatever it is. Demons, dragons, the bigger the better.” As if to emphasize the point, the Bull stood to his full height. Maker, it would be nice to have someone like Bull fighting alongside her in the future.

“And there’s one other thing,” Bull added, voice low. “Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“Given that I spent most of my life living in a Circle? No.”

Bull laughed. “Right, you’re still pretty sheltered under that armor. They’re something like spies. Or, we. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. But I also  _ get _ reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

There was always some kind of loose end, wasn’t there? It would be too easy to just have someone in the Inquisition’s inner circle that didn’t have some kind of baggage attached. Except for Josephine, perhaps. Arya couldn’t think of anything strange about Josie other than that she was very good at her job. “Why would you just...admit that you’re a spy? Rather implies that you’re working against us from the start.”

“I’m not hiding from something called ‘the Inquisition’. Better you hear it right up front from me. Besides, that Breach needs to get closed, and I’m here to help whoever’s doing the closing. So whatever I am, I’m on your side.”

_ For now, at least, _ thought Arya. She was no master of subterfuge, and she hardly knew enough of the Qunari to say if Iron Bull could just keep his people from finding out he was playing both sides. “How can I trust that you won’t be sending home compromising reports on the Inquisition?”

“I’ll only send back enough to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that’ll compromise your operations. The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at ease.”

She tried not to shudder at the thought of a full army of Qunari soldiers marching on Haven. There was enough for them to deal with already. “Fair enough, Iron Bull. Welcome to the Inquisition.”


	14. XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya attempts to relax on the Storm Coast.

Although Cassandra might have been happier to immediately head back toward Haven, Arya managed to convince her that there would be no harm in camping for the rest of the evening and heading off the next day. 

“We’ve done good work here, Seeker. Why not give yourself a moment to relax?”

“Relax? We still have yet to contact the rebel mages in Redcliffe. There is still much work that needs to be done at Haven. I see no reason to relax-”

“That’s  _ exactly why _ we need time to relax, Cassandra. If I keep diving headfirst into everything, I’m going to stop sleeping from the stress. Do you know many mage insomniacs? Believe me, you don’t want to.”

Cassandra made a disgusted snort. “You just want an excuse to drink, I’m sure.”

“Maybe, but what I really want is an excuse to get more than 6 hours of sleep.”

With Cassandra...somewhat placated, Arya made her way to the ale, and the rest of the Chargers. They crowded around a campfire, constantly cracking jokes and finding something new to rib each other about. Surprisingly, Sera had quickly inserted herself into the group. She readily spoke with the dwarf, and even one of their elves, a woman who was known only as ‘Skinner’. Most of the Chargers went by titles rather than what their own names were: Stitches, Grim, Dalish. Most of the nicknames she understood. Andraste’s ass, was Skinner...known for skinning people alive, or something? 

Arya didn’t ask for clarification. Any attempts she made to sit anywhere near Skinner were met with a fiery glare, so she was careful to ensure that they were never within arm’s length of each other. She probably wasn’t much of a fan of humans. Arya could grudgingly respect that.

The night went on with more alcohol and more rambunctiousness with the Chargers, but apparently, even alcohol wasn’t enough to turn Arya into a woman of the people. Attempting to get to know Krem had been a bust. Once she got past the initial questions of how he’d ended up with the Chargers, or how he didn’t mind working under a Qunari...she got tongue-tied. Krem found more interesting chatter with his friends. 

Dalish was a gorgeous elf with side-swept, nearly-white hair and green vallaslin. Arya guessed that Dalish’s vallaslin were the only thing that kept Sera from hitting on her. She still didn’t really understand what had made Sera despise anything that was too ‘elfy’, but that dislike extended to people, too. Arya was just glad that Sera hadn’t gone on a rant about the Dalish in front of her. It would hardly be a nice way to welcome their new allies.

Arya awkwardly sidled over to Dalish, brushing a wayward curl out of her face. “That’s an interesting staff, Dalish. Is it from your clan?”

Dalish looked at her quizzically. “It’s not a staff.”

Confused, Arya pointed to her own staff. “It’s...not?” 

“Special elven bow. The crystals on it are just for aiming.”

Perhaps Arya had had too much to drink, and she couldn’t tell that Dalish wasn’t carrying a staff...no. That was ridiculous. There was nowhere on the blasted thing to nock an arrow. She was probably just messing with her for asking such a stupid question. “...right. Well, it certainly looked like you were using magic earlier. Quite well, if I might add.”

“You’re mistaken. I’m not a mage. That’d make me an apostate!”

Arya placed a hand on her chest, incredulous. “You do realize that almost every mage in Thedas is an apostate right now? I’m an apostate. We’ve got another in our group. I’m not going to try and turn you in for using magic or anything.”

Dalish was quite thoroughly unimpressed by Arya’s efforts to expose her, and shook her head, muttering something in Elvhen before leaving her. Arya caught the word ‘shem’, but that was it. It was a sufficient enough marker for her to know that Dalish had lost interest in her, anyway.

* * *

Arya took the next available opportunity to wander further toward the shore, silently watching as the waves twisted and crashed. Taking a quick glance to make sure no one was looking her way, she unlaced her boots, tossing them a few lengths back toward the camp. It was embarrassing enough that she couldn’t seem to speak to the Chargers without seeming like an idiot. Losing her only boots to the Waking Sea on top of that would be pathetic.

She wiggled her toes, allowing herself a small smile at the gritty feeling of the sand mixed with shale. The beaches of the Storm Coast weren’t quite as forgiving as those in Ostwick, but it was the sea all the same. It was something familiar to her, something she could reach to.

When she was a child, she’d learned to swim in the shallower parts of the Waking Sea. Apparently the threat of drowning was a better teacher than any sailor in Thedas, according to her father. There hadn’t been much of a real threat of drowning, though. The sea closer to the Free Marches was far less aggressive, and her father had been there to catch her when she drifted off too far.

Not her father. Not anymore. Bann Trevelyan had not been anything to her since she had been taken to the Circle. Just a memory of a man who had once cared for her.

Arya didn’t really swim since leaving things behind, and tossing herself into the Storm Coast’s waves was more likely to leave her dashed upon the rocks. 

Wading wouldn’t kill her, though. She didn’t bother to roll up her breeches-the Storm Coast never really allowed for one to simply  _ be  _ dry. The water was a bitter, icy cold, tolerable only for a few minutes at a time. As soon as she felt pins and needles on her feet rather than the waves, Arya exhaled, willing the water to gently warm around her for a few moments. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to wander, letting the voices at the camp fade away from her attention. The voices were replaced with the sea welcoming her, the rhythmic whooshing and crashing of waves matching the pattern of her breathing, the rain from above mixing with the spray of the ocean. She could taste the salt on her skin, smell the brine. The sea was tumult and unrest barely contained. It drowned out distractions, almost forced you to turn your attention to it, but why would she ever want to look away? It was good.  _ Maker _ , it was home.

* * *

“Shockingly, you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Arya nearly fell face-first into the water. “ _ Fuck _ , Solas! Could you warn me next time you sneak up on me?”

“I did try, Herald. I suspect either your mind or the waves drowned me out.” 

Solas stood firmly planted on dry land, regarding Arya with a bemused expression. She realized it was definitely far later than it had been when she initially left the group, the moon high in the sky. A closer glance at the camp revealed that nearly all the Chargers had bedded down for the night.

Arya, feeling rather embarrassed, plodded out of the water. How long had Solas been standing there? “You probably think I’m mad, don’t you.”

His shoulders went up in the slightest hint of a shrug. “Not particularly. I have found few humans so content to walk in solitude while there are friends so close by.”

“They aren’t really friends yet, Solas. Perhaps not ever. And I...I don’t know. They call me the Herald of Andraste, but that isn’t me. I think every once in a while I deserve a chance to not hold up that mantle.”

“Sometimes posturing is necessary. I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clashed to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten. Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious as to what kind you’ll be.”

“I just hope I’m not the stupid kind.”

He chuckled drily. “I doubt it.”

Arya still had trouble understanding Solas. Most of their conversations had been brief, and he had been the one to save her life, but they never really seemed to mesh together. Whether that was to be attributed to Arya’s questionable social skills or Solas’ general disinterest in making friends, she wasn’t sure. But she often felt like a strange experiment under his study. He was the closest thing the Inquisition had to an expert on the Fade, after all.

“What was it like, Solas, learning magic all on your own? In the Circles they act like it can’t be done. Even the Dalish seem to have their own sort of instruction, from what I understand. But you’re just...you.” 

“Do you find that a problem?”

“No, not at all. Not that I could have done the same, though. That kind of loneliness sounds terrifying.”

“I did not find it lonely. My dreams took me to many places, allowing me to meet countless spirits. I wandered, and in those wanderings, I learned. I am able to find memories no other living being has ever seen. It is a shame that I cannot spend more time in the Fade.”

“Well, you make it sound surprisingly pleasant. Perhaps I should try thinking of the Fade as you would.”

The elf was silent for some time, staring at Arya with an expression she couldn’t parse. She decided to save herself from his gaze, citing a need to retrieve her boots before a bird swiped them for nesting material.


	15. XV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An endeavor in team-building.

The Herald’s return to Haven brought more allies and more gossip to the Inquisition’s grounds. 

Apparently, the latest of her exploits had included a near-miss with a high dragon on the Storm Coast. They hadn’t actually fought the beast, thank the Maker. Cullen had precious little desire to think about the logistics of sealing the Breach had the Herald been blasted into oblivion by dragonfire. Thankfully the dragon had been in the midst of a fight with a giant, and Cassandra had dragged the party swiftly in the other direction.

Cassandra had groaned to him about having to convince Arya and their new Qunari ally to not go running straight toward the dragon. The Qunari was desperate to fight her, but apparently Arya just wanted to ‘sit and watch her’.  _ Who _ in their right mind thought it was a good idea to watch a high dragon? There were surely better ways to fulfill a death wish. 

Like going to Redcliffe, for example.  _ Maker’s breath _ , the Herald was to make the trip in a few days’ time. It had been made abundantly obvious that Arya would go nowhere else, and by now, Cullen was able to admit that he could respect her decision. Sending her to Therinfal Redoubt when the prospect of meeting so many templars terrified her, would never have ended well. And, well...it was a fear that he should have made a better attempt to understand. He’d been comfortable in the thought that the Gallows had been an awful exception in how mages were treated in Circles because of Meredith. But Circles throughout Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches had fallen apart. Templars had been responsible for that. 

If only he could find it within himself to trust the possibility of working with the rebel mages. They likely held blood mages, abominations. If something went wrong, they could destroy the people at Haven before they even had the chance to seal the Breach.

Rather than lose himself to the fear of what  _ could _ happen if the mages were brought back, Cullen resolved to show the newcomers around the barracks. The Herald had shown them around everywhere  _ but _ where the soldiers trained, so that duty fell to him. While it was entirely possible that Arya had done so to spite him, he welcomed the opportunity. This was what he was good at, not having to meet nobles or beg for alliances. 

Blackwall and the Iron Bull were both warriors, and well trained ones at that. They would serve as a good example for the less experienced recruits. Iron Bull was quick to comment on his Templar training. Leliana had mentioned the Bull was a Ben-Hassrath, but he hadn’t realized that meant the man would be so perceptive.

“You’ve done some good work here,” Iron Bull commented.

“Thank you,” Cullen replied, pleasantly surprised. “Our troops are loyal and willing to work, which makes things easier.”

“Could do with a good shield wall though. Damn demons wouldn’t know what hit ‘em.”

“...I’ll keep that in mind.”

Further discussion with Iron Bull on the soldiers’ technique left Cullen with several new ideas for drills. He’d have to speak with Rylen about it.

When they were out of earshot from most of the people meandering about Haven, Iron Bull stopped abruptly, leaning casually on a post. “So what’s your take on the Herald?”

It was a subject Cullen didn’t want to broach, especially not with a Ben-Hassrath spy. “The Herald has done much to aid the Inquisition. We would be in a great deal of trouble without her.” He kept his voice level.

A harsh bark of a laugh left the Qunari’s throat. “Keep practicing that line, I might believe that’s what you think of her.”

“It’s not incorrect,” he replied, perhaps a little too petulantly.

“Sure, but that’s way too boring to be the first thing that comes to your mind. Especially considering what she’s said about you.”

What, was her plan to insult him behind his back to everyone she met? Surely she couldn’t be  _ that _ childish. “She’s...mentioned me?”

The Iron Bull seemed to be enjoying this line of questioning far, far too much. “It’s more that she avoids mentioning you like the plague. Maybe it’s just that mage-templar tension. But it’s not a good look to have the prophet of your movement not meshing with the leader of its forces.”

Cullen sighed. “Believe me, I’m aware.” 

“Well, if you ever need help working out those issues, come find me. I’m pretty good at relieving tension.”

* * *

Leliana and Josephine, like children, had insisted on having Cullen summon the Herald to the war council. Something about him ‘already being out and about for training’ and ‘perhaps he might be interested in saying more than two words to the Herald a day’. He’d grumbled about it, but there was no use protesting. He sensed Leliana and Josephine got some sort of sick joy out of seeing him even more reserved than normal, given the Herald’s frigidity toward him. After their discussion about allying with the rebel mages, it was hard to ignore the wall of ice she seemed to instinctually place between them. If the Iron Bull was to be believed, it stretched further than the walls of Haven itself.

_ Maker’s breath,  _ he thought to himself as he approached her quarters.  _ I’m not even sure what to say. _

He’d made no headway in devising a solution to the problem, so after a few minutes of unceremoniously shifting his weight outside the Herald’s room, Cullen took a deep breath and gave three short  _ raps _ to her door.

“It’s unlocked,” the Herald called from inside, almost sounding...casual. Cullen wasn’t used to it, and quickly pushed the door open, as though if he waited any longer he might just give up and turn around.

“I understand it’s early, but the... _ we _ ...need your presence at the War Council-” Cullen stopped abruptly, wondering if perhaps he should have  _ actually  _ greeted her, and realized her back was still turned. She deftly finished tying her curly hair into a ponytail, then turned to face him, eyes wide.

“Maker’s breath!” he hissed. It took him a moment too long to realize that he’d been staring at her bare back, and that she was only wearing her breeches. He could feel the entirety of his face reddening, and pointedly looked away, shielding his face with his hand. “I...I didn’t…”

“I....was expecting Josie,” the Herald replied, sounding equally as mortified.

Were the two of them  _ that  _ close? “I see. I-I can, well, return later…”

She muttered out a string out of curses before regaining her composure. “No need, Commander Rutherford.” The typical iciness seeped back into her voice. “Nothing like that, just didn’t expect...you.”

Cullen hated to admit that the Herald’s disdain for him still stung. Damn it, he’d  _ tried _ to be civil, and dealing with her at an arm’s length had been less than helpful for his general stress. He’d foolishly hoped that he’d separated himself enough from his old life, but the Herald was a painful reminder that he likely would never be able to forget, much less forgive, his deeds as a templar. It was foolish to think otherwise. 

“You don’t...you can look, you know. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of people without shirts on during training.” The Herald’s voice was measured, but Cullen felt her attempts at needling him. “Or is it different when it’s mages? Worries of potential abominations corrupting the senses?”

Cullen scoffed, still trying to fight the warmness in his face, and turned his back to her. He had little intention of rising to the bait. “Nothing of the sort,” he replied in an equally clipped tone. “Whenever you’re ready to head to the council, we can.”

The Herald said nothing, but Cullen could hear the quiet rustling of fabric as the Herald donned her usual vestments. She jerked past him as she exited the room, shoulder checking herself on Cullen’s plate armor.

She gestured forward. “Well, Commander. Your council awaits.”

The two walked in silence to the war room, barely looking at each other.  _ Andraste guide me, _ Cullen thought.  _ I’m never going to hear the end of this. _

* * *

Arya nearly spit out the tea Josephine had handed her. “You want me to do  _ what _ ?”

The Commander looked equally scandalized, running an agitated hand through his hair. “I wasn’t briefed on this earlier-”

Josephine sighed. “We didn’t brief you earlier precisely for this reason. Neither of you would have agreed to it.”

Arya couldn’t believe it. Josie was supposed to be her  _ friend  _ in all this. Josie listened when she griped about Cullen over a glass of wine in the evenings. All that, and she had the gall to suggest she begin training with him. “Find me someone else to spar with. Cassandra, Blackwall, anyone. Andraste’s tits, I’m not going to spar with the  _ fucking  _ templar. I rather like my head attached to the rest of me.”

Cullen whipped around to look at her. The tips of his ears were red. “ _ Former _ templar, as I’ve reiterated nearly every time we’ve spoken. And I’m not going to  _ kill _ you!”

“Does this mean you’ll train her then, Commander?” Leliana piped up, looking all too amused at the situation.

He gave a deep inhale, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If we do not have... _ other _ options, I will find time in my schedule.”

_ Maker damn him. _ Arya had been outnumbered. She regretted expressing a desire to do more martial training to Cassandra in passing. This was her fault, surely. Arya took a deep breath, willing herself not to look like a complete child in front of the Inquisition’s advisers. She’d embarrassed herself earlier already. “If the Commander is busy, perhaps I might find someone else to help. Another soldier, perhaps.”

Josephine shook her head. “Most of the soldiers revere you as the Herald of Andraste, and as such would likely have...difficulty focusing if you asked them to attack you, even in practice.”

Leliana nodded. “And those outside that group have ill opinions of mages in general, which would cause further trouble. Many of our recruits are former templars. Can you honestly tell me you would trust templars you’ve never met over Commander Cullen?”

Arya couldn’t, and Leliana knew it. “No,” she finally admitted. “But, I’ve actually sparred with one of the soldiers before. His name’s Jonah Carroll. We could ask him?”

She’d met Jonah first when she was trying to acclimate herself to Haven. He was practicing in the barracks on one of the training dummies, to some success, and she had asked him if he could show her some basic forms. It seemed like Jonah wasn’t often asked to teach people anything, and he was  _ quite _ eager to show off. He did eventually realize that Arya was the Herald of Andraste, but by that point, Arya had shown herself to be sufficiently awful at martial fighting that he...treated her like normal.

Josephine tapped her quill on her clipboard, eyes shifting between Leliana and Cullen. This likely wasn’t the outcome they wanted, but maybe Arya had managed to push them into a corner. After all, surely it couldn’t be a good idea to force two people that so clearly despised each other to fight on a regular basis.

The Commander, with his annoyingly calm expression, broke the silence. “Carroll...the name’s somewhat familiar. What does he look like?”

“He’s about my height, slim, long face, messy black hair? He skips a little when he walks.”

Cullen nodded. “I’m fairly certain he’s one of the newer recruits. You could train with him, but it’d be inadvisable. He’s not a templar or anyone with significant military experience, or he’d be put in charge of training people himself. It’s admirable that you two have sparred, but in all honesty, he’s still learning. You’re going to need to be challenged, and quickly, if you are to hold your own in a fight.”

Arya fiddled with the clasp on her cloak, trying to come up with a sufficient rebuttal, any reason she could think of to not work with him other than the fact that his being a Templar made her stomach churn. Nothing came.

“If you’re quite done finding excuses, Herald, we think it would be best if you two began training as soon as possible.” Josephine fixed her with a calm stare, the kind that eerily reminded her of an Enchanter chastising a misbehaving apprentice. 

“This is not just for your benefit. Those of us in the Inquisition’s inner circle can tolerate the animosity between you and the Commander, but without intervention, it will get worse and undermine the Inquisition as a whole. I would  _ strongly  _ suggest you take the option that allows you to improve your skills.”

Josie had a point, if an annoying one. 

Arya gave in with an exasperated sigh. “I’ll be available whenever it suits the Commander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this isn't too silly of a chapter? It's one that I had fun writing, at least.


	16. XVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen spars with the Herald.

Training the Herald was quite possibly the last thing that Cullen wanted to do in his limited spare time, but it was a necessary task. Judging by Josephine and Leliana’s remarks after their meeting, if they couldn’t manage to make sparring work, they would be forced to sit him and Arya down for more...direct intervention. Cullen assumed that they meant forcing them to air out their grievances until some kind of agreement was reached, which seemed a pointless exercise at best, disastrous at worst. Giving Arya a chance to hit him in a controlled setting might actually end up better for him.

With a little more delegation of work to Captain Rylen, he was able to make time to spar with her at midday, during the hour that most of the recruits took their lunch. He hoped that, with most of the soldiers gone from the field, that they wouldn’t attract too much of an audience. It would likely do little good for morale to see the Herald of Andraste get into a shouting match with the commander of the Inquisition’s army. Arya wasn’t usually the type to yell, but it seemed he had a gift of bringing her frustration to the forefront of her mind.

The Herald arrived at the training field a few minutes before their scheduled time, having exchanged her usual outfit for hardier leathers, though they would still be easy to move in. She still donned her usual dark green cloak, and gold earrings, and had her staff strapped to her back. The earrings weren’t a particularly practical choice of wear for close combat, but Cullen stopped himself from pointing it out. Best not to start off by provoking her. Her face was neutral, but she kept avoiding his gaze. 

“Herald,” he called, hoping he didn’t sound too tired. “You can put your staff by the benches and pick up a practice sword. Shield too, if you like.”

She dug her heels into the dirt, a hand protectively on her staff. “I can’t keep it?”

“This is training in  _ melee _ combat, in the event you’re left without use of your magic. I’d like to establish a baseline of your ability. No barriers, no Fade step, no...icing anything.”

Arya rolled her eyes, but exchanged her staff for a wooden longsword. “I can use other magic outside of the Winter school, you know. I just prefer it.”

Cullen exchanged his usual weapons for a blunted sword and wooden shield. “Of course, Herald. But for now, you’ll go without it.” He planted his feet into a ready stance, sword in one hand and shield in the other. “You said you’d learned some of the basics with Jonah, yes?”

She nodded, carefully stepping back in an attempt to match Cullen’s stance. He could tell that she was far too uncertain. The weight of the sword seemed to pose no issue, as her arms and shoulders were steady, but her hands trembled where she gripped her hilt. Her stance was too wide. It would be all too easy for an attacker to throw her off balance. They stood across from each other for a few tense moments, until it was abundantly clear that the Herald had no plans to make the first move. 

_ Well then, experience is the best teacher _ , Cullen thought. In an instant, he charged.

* * *

With a second’s delay, Arya had pulled up her sword to block him, which was better than Cullen had expected, though the bar was low. Her arm strength kept him from fully knocking her blade down, but she couldn’t maneuver her sword from under his. Her feet shifted in the dirt, into a further off-balance stance. Cullen took the opportunity to lessen the force he used, pull up his blade, allow her to overextend and…

_ Whack. _ A solid knock with his shield sent the Herald unceremoniously tripping over her own feet before she realized it happening. Cullen paused, expecting he might need to placate her ego a bit, but she leaped back to her feet, returning to her poor approximation of a ready stance.

“Your stance is too wide,” Cullen remarked simply. “Angle your right foot further back.”

Arya nodded, readjusting herself. “Like this?”

Well, at least she was receptive to critique, despite her complaining in the war room. He’d seen other recruits act far more petulant when they were taken down so quickly. “Good. And while you are up against a more experienced opponent, you can’t be on the defensive all the time, or you’ll never strike. You’re trying to figure out what I’m going to do, but I have too much of an advantage. Don’t be afraid to make the first move-try to catch me off guard.”

* * *

They continued their dance for several more minutes- Arya trying to get close to striking Cullen, Cullen deftly blocking all of her advances and sending her falling into the dirt. As soon as he knocked her down, she was back on her feet, readjusting, trying something different, trying to learn. It was far from perfect-he’d still catch her lapsing into unstable stances, attempting to strike when she should have parried his blow. Cullen often found himself able to stop her advances with the practice shield alone.

Beads of sweat dripped down her face, her brow was furrowed in concentration, her arms started to tense with the repeated, unsuccessful efforts, but the Herald endured his assaults, gradually staying on her feet for longer and longer periods of time. Although she wasn’t always able to correct her mistakes, Arya clearly noticed them. Whenever Cullen quietly caught a glaring error, he saw that the Herald would bite her lip seconds later.

A small crowd had gathered to watch them spar. First came Cassandra, who actually chuckled every time Arya picked herself back up. Shortly after, the Iron Bull, two elves, and a human man walked up, cracking jokes. That must have been some of the Chargers Cullen had yet to meet. A gangly young man that Cullen was fairly certain was the one who Arya had mentioned sparring with came next, trailed by some of his friends. Jonah actually cheered for her whenever it seemed like she’d made a good move. He stopped, though, when an unexpected shout shot Arya’s attention to the crowd of spectators and away from Cullen. She seemed bothered that their training was no longer a private affair, squirming at the attention. He fought the urge to sigh. They’d have to work on ignoring distractions, too.

When she tore her eyes away from the fight for too long, Cullen opted to knock the sword out of her hand with his shield, rather than fully pushing her into the ground. The potential embarrassment would do little for her focus.

“Eyes on me, Herald,” he barked out.

“Right. Sorry.” Arya took a moment to steel herself. From how she was holding her sword, Cullen expected that she was waiting for him to make the first move again, still a poor strategic decision. He made a move to swing his sword at her again, but instead, Arya shot forward, her sword swinging up in an arc towards his face.

She was trying to feint. Cullen was impressed.

His shield arm came up automatically, easily blocking the strike. On instinct, his arm shot outward, just an attempt to throw her off balance. But the wooden shield was far lighter than the one he was used to, and the strike came out faster and with far more force than he’d intended.

Arya, in her inexperience, had overextended herself again, tilting forward where she should have been comfortably resting back. Her sword had started to drop back in her direction.

Cullen had just meant to knock the sword away, but before he could adjust, the wooden shield smacked Arya clean in the side of her face with a rather unpleasant crunch. Her head snapped to the side and she went careening into the dirt, falling hard on her back. He heard the crowd gasp.

_ Shit. _

Instead of righting herself like the past several dozen times she’d been knocked down, the Herald stayed on her back, legs tensing up. Her unmarked hand went to cover where the shield had unceremoniously connected with her face.

Cullen winced. He’d really not meant to hit her that hard. For a brief flash, his mind went to the worst--she’d retaliate against him, blast him with magic, make him suffer--but nothing happened. Arya just...groaned, murmuring a string of curses.

He could feel the eyes of the crowd on him, uncertain. Cassandra gave a rather pointed cough. A blush reddened the tips of Cullen’s ears as he realized that he’d left the Herald in the dirt far too long, and that he should have offered her a hand by now. 

He hurried over to her, arm outstretched. “Are...you alright, Herald? Maker’s breath, I hadn’t meant to hit you that hard.”

Cullen almost expected her not to take the hand, but after a moment of hesitation she did, clasping it tight as she allowed him to pull her up. A gash had opened up on the left side of her forehead. Blood dripped down, trailing toward her eye. She was inches away from him, and looked...surprisingly cavalier about the whole affair, given that an ex-Templar had just given her a not-insignificant wound.

“I really am sorry,” he said, stepping back.

“S’alright,” Arya replied, trying to wipe the blood away from her eye. It left an odd smudge on her forehead. “Would be bad if the Commander of the Inquisition army couldn’t knock down a mage who can barely hold a sword. Whatever would your people think?”

Cullen found himself chuckling at that. “I suppose you’re right, although you’re not entirely terrible. Perhaps we’ll make a Knight-Enchanter of you yet.”

Arya rolled her eyes and smirked. “Andraste’s tits, what high praise, Commander Rutherford.”

He’d gotten her to joke, at least. He would take whatever progress he could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> We'll be getting back to actual plot next chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've stuck around to the end, thank you for reading! This is the first fanfic of any kind I've written in several years, and I'm mostly writing this self-indulgently, but I thought I would post it in case anyone else might enjoy.
> 
> Some general notes: I've written several chapters already and outlined about to the end of Act 1, so I should be able to start with consistent weekly updates. Also, I am writing this to satisfy my current hyperfixation on Dragon Age, but I have only seen playthroughs and can't play the game myself, so apologies in advance if there are some inconsistencies with the game. I'll do my best to avoid inconsistencies (unless I'm deliberately diverging from the plot, which shouldn't happen too much).


End file.
